


Sweet Princess

by SWModdy



Series: Princess Din [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Daddy Kink, Dismemberment, Kidnapping, Leashes, Light Bondage, M/M, Murder princess Din, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Subdrop, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 34,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWModdy/pseuds/SWModdy
Summary: Boba Fett rules his planet with an iron fist but even he has a gentle side, if only very few people get to enjoy it.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Series: Princess Din [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156616
Comments: 303
Kudos: 1309





	1. Princess

Only a fool would challenge Boba Fett, king of Tatooine, in his own fortress.

Well, technically the former Jabba cartel and fort, but that was now history. Jabba’s death was years past and Bib Fortuna’s short reign was a simple footnote in their history that few missed due to his incompetence. The only ones to genuinely miss him would be the ones that benefited from Fortuna’s incompetence to grease their own palms and hang onto the power.

But they knew better than to grumble too loudly.

Not with Boba on the throne, especially with his right and left hand wandering around.

Fennec Shand was a danger, the sharpshooter’s eyes never missing out and woe be you if her eyes lingered on you. You better hope it’s not because she has a grudge because Fett might as well shoot you in his lieutenant’s name, not the woman herself nursing a bottle of spotchka that never impaired her ability as she leaned against his throne.

She was Boba’s fiercest enforcer and if you wanted a quiet life, you did not cross her. Half the palace either wanted to avoid her like the plague and the rest wanted her attention in a carnal manner. The prospect of a quiet life when you were in Fett’s fortress was a contradictory notion.

Then there was the other Mandalorian in shiny beskar armor, simply called Djarin by Fett or if the man was in a bad mood, beroya. The whispers and rumors about him were many, from killing a great krayt dragon, laying claim to an ancient weapon, being a cyborg instead of being true flesh and blood. And then was the rather bizarre rumor that he raised a Jedi whelp.

Djarin never seemed to eat and rarely drank when in public and generally stood behind the throne, resting his hands on it slightly as he leaned forward with unseen eyes trained on whoever had caught his attention, beskar spear strapped to his back and blasters at his hip.

People wanted his attention even less than Fennec Shand.

With Shand, at least it was a fifty/fifty chance that her interest was good natured and could lead to some fun time in a corner, the few who she had taken a liking to saying she was a great kisser if prompted enough.

Djarin’s attention was never good.

His attention came at the price of him discovering traitors, assassins or embezzlers, the silver mando leaning down over the throne to quietly murmur to Fett, informing him of what he had seen or heard, always backed with evidence and yet the usurper king never asking to see it before acting.

One memorable event had Djarin leaning down, his voice, as always, covered by the music of the palace. What he had said, no one knew, but it was enough for Fett to jerk a viroblade out of his boot and throw it, nailing poor Yarkarta to the bar on the other side of the room.

The less said about Yarkarta, the better, but a few noted that a few days later Djarin seemed to have grown a few more pieces of shiny armor. The speculation that Yarkarta had been smuggling beskar was a shared and agreed notion.

Those two were understandable, an enforcer and a bounty hunter as fierce as Boba Fett in his youth.

The last member however…

One of the first things Fett had done when taking over was to overturn the practice of slavery all over Tatooine. If you wanted to live, you better hope no one informed Fett that you kept slaves on his planet. It had earned him many a zealot soldier and enforcer, former slaves from all over flocking to him.

And yet he owned a slave himself.

Princess was a man somewhat taller than Fett as some noted when both were standing, with high cheekbones, defined and beautifully dark brown eyes, a trimmed mustache resting over pink lips. Coupled with the dark skin and soft brown hair that curled at the nape of his neck, that alone would make him a pretty thing.

But Princess was also muscled, scars in certain places spoke of a life of fighting and someone who knew to survive, even as he had the softness of someone that ate regularly and well.

Beskar collar and chain had the man contained to a general radius around the throne, though not always chained. When unchained, Princess could still be found near Fett, maybe fetching something to drink or eat and yet somehow lost, brown eyes saddened as outside of being able to avoid people, he did not look at them. It was as if his life had recently been deprived of purpose, of goals and he was unmoored in a galaxy he didn’t quite recognize and didn’t know how he fit in.

Kneeling on the large red pillow at Fett’s feet however, Princess looked content, head resting on Fett’s knee as the man absently played with dark curls or scratched gently at the others scalp as he only was with Princess.

Either Princess was a slave who didn’t know how to survive beyond what he had been for years (unlikely by the sight of his muscled and scarred body), or he was willingly kneeling at Fett’s feet, maybe dominated by the other man at one point and therefore sworn to the others side, as some speculated.

Not too loudly though.

Speculations about Princess was another way to die. Fett didn’t tolerate anyone except maybe Fennec getting too close to Princess. If you wanted a swift death, then the easiest way was to try and touch Princess.

Especially since Princess was dressed in soft outfits of lace and silk that Fett seemed to enjoy; soft babydoll dresses in shades of pink, purple, green and blue, resting along the man’s thighs and only occasionally giving a peek at a pert bottom, the cinching of the dress waist revealing the trim waist easily.

A favored outfit was a very light green baby doll, mostly sheer with white lace details and thin straps resting over dark shoulders, the details of underwear and firm rear barely seen through the sheerness. A tease more than anything as people tried not to look and yet being unable to at least not glance.

Fett seemed to enjoy the outfit the most. When coupled with white knee stockings, Princess ended up in his lap more than on his pillow as Fett ran an ungloved hand over his slave’s body with gentle interest.

Sometimes, Fett would run his fingertips under the thin beskar collar, as if checking the skin beneath before sweeping his hand over the others spine and resting his arm around Princess waist.

No, only a fool would try to get close to Princess without good cause.


	2. Can be gentle

Running his bare fingers absently through Din’s soft hair, Boba quietly contemplated the farmer standing in front of him, nervously twisting her cap in her hands as she preformed her petition, wide eyed gaze staring up at Boba.

It shouldn’t really surprise him that those in a difficult situation would try to bargain with him.

Yet somehow he hadn’t expected moisture farmers coming to him in person, trying to negotiate a trade, a mutual benefit.

He had expected traders, guilds, mercenary, spies and even New Republicans considering he knew this was the homeworld of karking Luke Skywalker.

But not a single woman with a single, if large, moisture farm.

It was almost impressive, the woman had guts to come alone to him with her petition.

And a large moisture farm, even if her tools were were failing her and she needed to repair, were actually worth something. She could be generating a lot of water… if only her gear worked.

Unbidden, Boba’s covered eyes fell to Din, watching those long lashes resting against the others cheeks, the slight quiver of eyelids each time Boba’s blunt nails dragged gently at his scalp. Din was still so sensitive to touch, something Boba had no doubt came from his long years in armor.

Yet here he was, content, resting on his knees between Boba’s legs as he accepted the touches Boba knew could undo him if the man preforming them wanted to, trusting and accepting.

Likely feeling the gaze, Din opened his eyes and raised his head from the thigh, enough to blink up at Boba.

Din had of course been paying attention, for all that he had looked half a sleep, even as Princess, that awareness never truly left him.

Even now, with sleepy lidded eyes, he could see Din’s eyes abort from looking at the woman presenting her case to the king of Tatooine.

Din and his softness and his honor code, insisting he worked alone and yet somehow surrounding himself with people at the same time.

Din, who had stumbled up the ramp of Slave 1 with a scowling Bo-Katan following and her Nite Owl pet, darksaber and spear in hand, eyes empty as the vastness of space. “…Twenty percent,” Boba finally said, the woman shutting up as she stiffened, staring at Boba hopefully even as he kept looking down at Din. “Twenty percent of your overall water for two years, with ten percent of it going to food manufacturing. And I’ll give you the trade you want.” He gestured for one of his advisors.

The twi’lek stepped forward, even as the farmer bowed and scraped and stammered out a thanks.

Boba knew that Fennec would go over the report later, ensure Virla did her due and didn’t try to book something not in the deal.

Though, Virla was a former brothel slave, her loyalty, at least for now, was to Boba, of that he was certain.

But it never hurt to check of course.

Din’s lips twitched into a small, pleased smile at Boba’s deed, the sight warming the cold concave of Boba’s heart.

The deal was very good to the farmer as much as Boba and had he been Jabba, the water payment would have been a lot higher.

But Boba, running Tatooine with an iron fist and violence, would like things to actually _function_. If people died from starvation and dehydration, there be nothing left, his planet would crumble like the multitude of other hutt run worlds.

And it pleased him to see Din smile even so slightly, two flies, one smack.

Boba Fett was not a soft man, but he could be gentle in occasions, when the wretched he stepped in for needed it.

And for Din, his princess, who was so lost in his own head he seemed to loose himself in the maw of a too dark space, Boba could and _would_ be gentle.

Din needed it, too used to the harshness of everyone else, even from himself, cauterized scars telling stories of the younger man’s life easily to someone experienced.

Slipping his hand out of the hair, ignoring Din’s little half whine, Boba instead slipped two fingers under the delicate beskar collar and gave a tug. “Up Princess.” He murmured, tapping his thigh with his gloved hand.

Brown eyes lit with interest and Din settled his hands on Boba’s thighs, pulling himself up as smoothly as possible and into the others lap, nuzzling his face into the neck between helmet and armor. “Buir’ika.” He sighed happily.

Resting his hand at the base of the others spine, Boba observed the gathered crowd, lips pulling up into a smirk as the regulars _tried_ not to look and yet seemed unable not to. Pulled up in his lap, Din’s outfits had a tendency to crawl up his body, exposing more of him to wandering eyes, not that the other cared by this point.

But they knew what would happen if they were caught staring too long at Boba’s sweet Princess.

It amused Boba honestly, how no one seemed to connect Princess to Din or visa verse, despite never seeing them in the same room together. A smirking Fennec had informed him, finding a fresh bottle of booze, that the days Din was not visible in his armor, the court thought he was out hunting.

A fair assumption, Din did occasionally go out for a hunt for Boba, simply for the pleasure of it. His beroya would always be a hunter, skills honed to a knife edge, deadly and all the more beautiful for it in the older man’s eyes.

And the separation made the reunion all the sweeter when Din shed his armor and once more knelt for Boba, being such a good princess for him, pressing needily into his touch.

But at the moment he was not needy, only clingy, touch starved as always. “Princess, helmet.” Boba murmured, lips quirking at how eagerly Din obeyed the command, sitting back on Boba’s knee to ease the helmet off the others head.

It was settled to the side, safely out of the way on the left arm of the throne by Din and then he was back, burrowing his face into Boba’s neck more properly with the helmet out of the way. It almost made him chuckle, the feel of Din’s cold nose brushing against his warm neck. “Jate Princess, always so good for me.” He rumbled, feeling the other shiver against him, pressing closer.

For all the scars and dents Boba bore and bore without shame, it never failed to amaze him how much Din seemed to crave his praise.

Boba was no fool, he knew that in terms of attractiveness, there were many who’d balk at him after his stint in the sarlacc, the scars worn openly unsettling many eyes.

But it was harder to remember that when Din pressed so sweetly into his touch and looked at him with soft, wanting eyes. “Jate.” Boba repeated, simply for the pleasure of Din shivering once more.

Boba Fett was not a soft man, but yes, he could be gentle to the ones who deserved it.


	3. Fruit juice

Its not that he doesn’t trust the other… but yes, Boba totally doesn’t trust Din at the same time.

Not with this, not with his own care, Din can be beyond stupid with his own care.

Boba had caught this man cauterizing a thigh wound once instead of finding bacta, Din giving him a guileless look after while proclaiming himself ‘fine’, limping across the sand.

So no, Boba did not trust Din with the man’s own care.

Which is why Boba is currently slowly peeling a fist sized melon with his knife as he leans his elbow on the right arm of the throne. Sweet juice coats his fingers but for this, Boba finds he doesn’t mind the stickiness as Din finally returns from the bar with two drinks, settling one on the unoccupied left arm and sinking down on his pillow with the other.

Normally you could find Fennec on one of the sides but in the current moment, she was preoccupied with one of her captains, so it was easy enough to use the arm as a drink table for Boba while he leaned on the other.

There’s a straw in Din’s drink, a request carried by habit Boba suspected but it allows Din to rest his head on Boba’s bent knee with the straw in his mouth, sipping slowly, so Boba quite enjoys said habit too as the others lips wraps around the straw.

However, he has something else for the other mandalorian than a drink. “Princess,” He murmured, Din raising his chin with some surprise. “Say aaah.” Boba smirked, as without question, Din opened his mouth obediently.

Which allowed Boba to carefully pop the sliver of sweet, yellow melon into Din’s mouth from his knife, the sharp edge towards Boba.

He would not even chance an accidental nicking of Din’s lips, even if the feeling of the knife was sometimes enough to make the other shiver.

This time however, there is only fruit flesh and Din makes a low, happy noise as he chews, shuffling closer on his knees as he sets his drink to the side.

Chuckling faintly, Boba cut another sliver of melon. “You like that?” He murmured fondly.

Nodding, Din opened his mouth for the second slice. “Its sweet, but has a tart aftertaste buir’ika,” He stated quietly after swallowing. “I like it a lot.” He tacked on a tad shyly.

Making a mental note to haggle for more of this particular melon, Boba just hummed quietly as as he continued working the fruit into small, bite sized slices he could quietly feed Din with, his fingers becoming absolutely soaked with juice.

Absently he noted several regulars quite obviously relaxing at the sight, realizing that Boba was in a better mood than most days.

Hey, he didn’t have to kill anyone today, Din had been a good boy all day, hadn’t fallen into his darker mindset, Fennec had informed him that the market that had popped up around the palace was bustling, to the point several were apparently contemplating asking for land to build homes in the general area.

At this point, they might get a proper city around here, if buildings expanded and they could get a proper variations from shipping berths to cantinas and so on.

‘A large working capital would be nice, Tatooine is a shit show at the best of days and it would give me more control if the capital was _here_ on my doorstep.’ Boba mused to himself. So yes, he had reasons for his good mood.

And any traders that built homes here would have to pay a tax of sorts, if it was a cut of their profit or their wares would be up to them.

So yes, good mood.

Popping the last slice of melon into Din’s mouth, Boba smiled wryly down at the other, tucking his knife into his belt and reaching out to run his clean fingers through Din’s hair, enjoying the soft, feathery feel of those brown waves. It was getting long, curling down Din’s nec-

Din had captured his other hand, the sticky one, bringing it down to him and Boba was instantly on guard as a mischievous look flashed through the others eyes, the only warning he had before Din gently ran his tongue along Boba’s pinkie finger.

Frankly, Boba’s brain sort of stalled as the other continued with little kitten licks up his hand and into his palm, warm, wet tongue lapping away the fruit juice.

Din had sucked him off earlier that morning in bed, before they left the room but that was hours ago and Boba’s body was more than ready for a second round, blood rushing down as Din continued slowly, sucking Boba’s ring finger into his mouth.

“Princess…” He growled faintly, watching the other closely, the court an absent thought to him now.

Din just smiled back at him and swirled his tongue around the middle finger he had taken in.

The other knew what he was doing, for being so shy and untouched in the beginning, still questioning his belief and his own decisions, Din had learned what could get Boba to come undone and the warm mouth wrapped around his fingers, sucking juice off his fingers in a pretense of ‘cleaning’ was doing things to the older man.

When the other popped Boba’s thumb out of his mouth, the sound echoed faintly but Boba couldn’t look away from Din, didn’t care to. He knew he’d find people glancing at them anyhow as he spread his knees for Din.

Looking as if life day had come early, Din brightened and pulled forward only to pause when Boba lifted his hand a bit. “Pillow.” Boba stated pointedly, glancing down at the large, stuffed pillow beneath the other.

For all the desire in the galaxy, Boba would not forget about the others bad knee that ached during sand storms and having cushioning beneath Din was a must if he wanted to kneel at Boba’s feet, to prevent further, permanent damage.

Grimacing but doing as told, Din shuffled the pillow forward until it was pressed to the stone throne, giving the other support as he got comfortable between Boba’s feet, ducking in under Boba’s robe and undoing the lacing of his pants.

Letting his head drop back against the throne as he reclines, Boba let out a small hiss of pleasure as Din’s deft fingers wrapped around his half hard cock, that karking tongue kitten licking the throbbing warmth just as the other had done Boba’s palm.

Wet and nice and Boba glanced down for the visual of Din’s head half covered by the black skirt of his outfit, bare shoulders with thin blue straps of the babydoll rising and falling as Din moved. “Jate princess…” Boba murmured, grunting quietly when the praise had Din’s mouth wrapping around him, sucking gently on the tip.

Fucking sinful mouth that was, it had learned well just how Boba liked it, a hand at the base for support and nothing else as Din laved the head of the cock with attention, tongue teasing precum from the slit almost playfully.

His hips twitched but Boba forced himself to remain still, let Din decide the pace.

If he wanted to fuck the others throat and see how wrecked it left Din, he had ample time for that another time but right now, he was going to enjoy the feeling of the others mouth wrapped around him, the little bobbing of his head as Din slowly worked up and down, taking in more and more of Boba.

Its clear Din realizes he’s teased enough though, as the other hollows out his cheeks and reaches his other hand in to cradle Boba’s balls, slowly rolling them in his hands as he works steadily down the large cock, a tight constriction of the others throat.

Boba doesn’t like it when Din gags though, the sound disturbs him and always has even before when he was a younger man.

Some might take it as a compliment on their length and their girth.

Boba does not, never has and Din has worked hard to swallow the others cock all the way into his throat and ignore his gag reflexes.

And Boba appreciates his cyar’ika working so hard for him, grunting lowly as he rubs his fingers over the warm skin of Din’s shoulder, chuckling huskily when the other twitches said shoulder up into the touch.

Always so touch starved, so wanting for Boba’s touch, the touch he trusted and knew wouldn’t harm him without it being asked.

And if asked for, Boba would control said hurt, so he could put the other back together, like any good buir’ika.

“Such a sweet princess,” He groaned deeply, feeling Din roll his balls in his hand while swallowing around the large member while removing his hand from the base, his nose brushing against Boba’s dark pubes, one of the few places the other still has hairs thanks to the sarlacc scars. “That’s it, you know how to do it sweetheart.” Boba tacked on, feeling the fine trembles of Din’s body between his legs and against his hand.

Din will need proper attention later, with how he’s pretty much quivering out of his own skin but the seal of the others mouth around his cock makes Boba’s thought slow on that. The thought exists but is small compared to the hot, tight suction of Din’s mouth, his deft fingers rolling his sack.

It feels like Boba’s entire body is throbbing and when Din moans around his cock, a reaction to the soft praise Boba is still spewing for the others ears, the string snaps.

His hand shots to Din’s head, holding him in place against Boba as cum starts spurting into Din’s throat, his boy making low noises as he tries to swallow it, the tight squeeze helping pull Boba through his orgasm until he’s oversensitive and can slowly push Din back.

Din’s pupils are huge as he emerges from under, eyes glazed and his lips red and plush from the fucking, saliva running down the corners of his mouth. And far below that again, the sight of a stained silky underwear as Din hard cock throbs.

Boba doesn’t care to tuck himself away, not yet, his robe hides it all as he instead reaches down and seizes the other under the armpits, pulling Din up into his lap.

His hands are a bit less steady than usual but Din helps with when he gets his feet under himself, hauling himself up into Boba’s lap as much as he’s being pulled. He’s heavy in Boba’s lap, a shaking weight but a good one as Boba presses his lips to Din’s sweaty temple and runs his hand over the others back, gentling the other as you might a quivering racing stead.

Din’s taut in his lap, face pressed to his neck but doesn’t ask for anything.

Din doesn’t generally want anything while out in the throne room, only occasionally does he ask for an orgasm while in public and this is clearly not one of those times. So instead Boba showers the other with gentle touch and affection. “So sweet my Princess.” He whispers, feeling Din nuzzle even more into his neck.

Sweetest Princess in the entire galaxy and all Boba’s.


	4. Ni Ceta

It is not often that Princess leaves the throne room when he first emerges from the King’s bedroom but it happens, the man trailing away from Boba Fett for whatever reason in the months since Fett took over.

Always with permission though, the other nuzzling against a leg or into the others neck before leaving on light, sandal covered feet.

The sandals are always resting beneath the dais of the throne, Fett caring more for the sand and his Princess feet than either Fortuna or Jabba had ever for their slaves.

Some speculate its the stockings he seems so fond of seeing Princess in, that he doesn’t want to replace them too often.

Fett doesn’t seem to mind those times as far as the court can tell, he knows where his Princess is, as long as the other is in the palace somewhere and has permission, he gives his slave leeway to do as he wants, though Princess rarely seems to want to leave Fett as it is.

However, when the King of Tatooine, Boba Fett, calls for Princess, Princess answers, appears back in the throne hall within a minute.

Dealing with the New Republic liaison has put Fett in a mood, the half veil of threat and negotiation that the liaison has to return to her superior to confirm being more than enough for anyone to become impatient, especially the man that had to both listen to said liaison and then issue said threats.

So when the man calls for Princess, who had left a little over half an hour earlier, several courtiers relax, knowing Princess will take care of the mood Fett had been left in.

Only… Princess doesn’t appear.

Seconds tick by, becoming a minute with no Princess. Fett, who had been lazily sprawled with his left foot tapping on the floor, is sitting up, helmeted face tilted towards the door opening.

A minute becomes two, Shand is lowering her drink, her eyes focusing on the opening too as the air starts growing thick, the music suddenly quieter as the musicians grow nervous.

“Princess?” Fett calls out a second time, his voice a deep growl now, standing as the skirt of his robe falls around his boots.

And once more Princess does not appear, the music silencing as Shand too stands from the throne arm she had been sitting against, hawk eyes having been focused on the representative until now.

Fett takes a step down from the dais, the court collectively holding their breath as a rapidly reddening Fett opens his mouth one more time when there’s a low, staggering shuffle noise and Princess _finally_ appears.

And most wishes he hadn’t.

Because Princess is a right state, standing in a pale pink outfit as he uses the doorway to prop himself up with one hand, the other buried half in his hair and covering one side of his face, blood oozing and dripping down as one glazed eye peers at Boba.

The throne whore looks dazed, there is blood on the pretty pink, sheer outfit, on the white stockings and even dripping down his dark throat, beneath the silver collar.

Fett has frozen up, staring, eyes wide from surprised that _narrow_ quickly. Because even with the blood and the collar, the darkening red marks on Princess throat is clear enough to anyone with good eyes in the dim palace.

Someone put their hands on Princess, held him by the throat and _injured_ him.

Princess wobbles, takes a step forward while letting go of the wall and instantly starts falling. Fett is faster though, catching the dark skinned human against himself, supporting him as Shand jumps down from the dais.

No one dares to move other than her, holding their breath collectively as Fett props his slave up against armored chest. “Buir’ika.” Princess slurs out a whine against the man’s shoulder, pained and confused and he whines louder as Fett carefully pulls the hand covering up one side of his face while murmuring something unfamiliar in another tongue to Princess.

A head wound, something that bleeds well and by the glaze of the man’s eyes, a concussion on top.

The king of Tatooine stares at the bleeding wound cracking open Princess skull before his head snaps up, looking at Shand, a sharp nod towards the direction Princess came being the only thing exchanged.

Shand nods in return and moves past them, following a spotty trail of blood.

Fett however lifts Princess into a bridal carry, turns on his heel with a deep, echoing growl as he walks up the dais, past the throne and into the supposedly spacious king’s room behind it, though none of the court has seen it.

The door bangs shut behind them and finally the court can  _breath_ , even as one collective thought passes through each and everyone of them.

There will be blood spilled tonight and a lot of it, for every drop of Princess own.

()()()

Dropping the bloody cloth into the water bowl on the floor, Boba let out a deep breath and turned back to Din, observing from the bedside.

The younger mando was propped up on the many pillows of their bed, tucked beneath a thin day blanket. The bacta had done its job long ago, sealing the wound and Boba had spent the last half hour, after getting Din out of his babydoll, cleaning the others body, face and hair for blood.

Even his collar had been removed, resting on the nightstand after Boba had cleaned it.

Din would have to decide if he wanted it back on once he woke up.

After this, Boba wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to be Boba’s Princess again. ‘He looks so small…’ Breath caught in his throat as Boba reached out and ran his fingers through the sickly pale man’s moist hair, horribly reminded of the imperial cruiser when Din had given up his child.

Initially this, all of this, had been about giving Din an outlet. About letting this young mandalorian who had lost everything not being overwhelmed as his child was given away.

It might have been the right thing, Boba wasn’t the one to decide that, the little one had powers that would have others chasing after him and needed to learn to protect himself with said powers.

Din could not do that, so he had handed him to Skywalker.

That didn’t make the pain less for Din, Grogu had been and still was _his_ kid.

And the loss had sent the younger mando tumbling into his darkest thought, as he had now lost everything.

His home, his covert, his ship, his creed and even worse, his child.

With the darkening maw threatening to swallow him, with Kryze and her Nite owls practically ready to brawl there and then as Din held the darksaber, Boba had offered him the alternative.

To come with Boba.

And later, this.

The option to not think, to leave his armor behind and to wear a different ‘armor’.

Be seen and yet not seen at the same time as he could figure out his life.

And to be cared for, Boba caring for his little one with his soul as he put the other together every night, held him tightly and wiped Din’s tears.

He helped Din rebuild himself, settle, feel comfortable in his own skin and his own head once more.

Now this.

The marks left on Din’s body told Boba everything he needed and didn’t want to know. From the clamped finger shaped mark around the throat, the bruising back of Din’s neck, the scrapes on the others face and the scratched marks at the tanned hip.

Someone had gotten the jump on his sweetheart.

Someone had slammed him into the wall and without his helmet, concussed Din instead of just ringing his bell. And in that confusion, Din's head ringing as he was pinned to a wall, had tried to take what wasn’t _theirs_ to have.

Boba could only assume that whoever it was, they had gotten spooked by Boba calling for the other and knew that if Din didn’t appear, Boba would have come looking for him.

Lifting the others hand with his, Boba pressed a kiss to the knuckles, the blaster calluses and hidden scars being felt against Boba’s skin. “Ni ceta, mesh’la. Ni ceta.” He whispered quietly, eyes damp while pressing his forehead to the others hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ni Ceta: Grovling apology "I kneel."  
> Mesh'la: Beautiful


	5. A Princess Cabur

Waking up, Din feels sore. And not the nice kind of sore that comes from Boba’s touch. No, this is the kind of soreness that comes from injury Din figures as he lays quietly for a minute, trying to remember what the kark happened.

He can’t.

The last thing Din remembers is leaving the throne room, wanting to get some of those melons Boba had bought for him from the storeroom and after that… blankness.

But he recognizes where he is. The familiar feeling of resting against Boba’s shoulder with the other’s arm wrapped around him too distinct for Din to ever mistake. Nor can he mistake the scent of almost sickeningly sweet bacta.

Alright, admittedly, that is more worrying. Coupled with his lack of memory and a minor headache, leads Din to conclusions that annoy him. Someone had managed to ambush him clearly, and by the lack of memory, given him head trauma.

‘Dank farrik,’ he mentally grumbled even as he pressed closer to Boba, throwing his leg between the older man’s. He hated head trauma. That rarely happened when he was wearing his helmet unless he was too close to a fucking explosion. But what was he to expect, walking around without his buy’ce.

A warm hand touched his hair, stroking it tenderly. “Din, baby?” Boba’s voice was deep, sleep rasped and full of overwhelming concern which had Din opening his eyes despite the ache in his head.

There is a candle lit in the room, providing them dim but natural light as it rested on the bedside table next to Boba. The natural light would be less harmful to Din’s eyes and head than an artificial one would be. Maybe that’s why Boba had one lit. The man tended to think more of Din’s comfort than Din did himself.

Said man was currently staring at him with dark eyes. His furrowed brow relaxed when Din nuzzled closer into the hand that Boba was stroking slowly and tenderly through his hair.

“Boba,” Din greeted, his voice raspier and deeper than usual.

Actually, thinking about it, his throat hurt as he spoke. He raised hand only for Boba to intercept it, lacing their fingers together. “Don’t. I’ve put a bruise salve on it. Let it work for another hour,” Boba whispered quietly, frowning at him. Then his face fell further. “You can’t remember, can you?” He stated, upset but not surprised.

Letting out a low noise, trying not to feel like he was failing the other man, Din nodded as he took in the fact that their thicker blanket was covering them, indicating how many hours Din had lost out on based on his last memory.

At the very least, Din had lost seven to eight hours, if not more. Din couldn’t tell, but he knew that the suns must have gone down at the very least and been down for an hour for it to be this chilled in their room.

Boba let out a deep breath at the confirmation of what he likely suspected, pressing his lips to Din’s forehead with the gentleness Din had come to expect in these rooms and even outside them when he was kneeling.

“I was worried that would be the case, but I am not surprised. You had a hairline fracture.” He whispered, brushing his fingers over Din’s temple.

“Had?” Din mumbled, blinking a bit as he nuzzled closer.

“I had a medic look you over, with proper tools.” Boba confirmed. The King of Tatooine was able to get whatever he wanted, including medical treatment at the snap of his fingers.

Well, that did explain things. Din nuzzled closer to the other, between the injury and whatever treatment he had been given to fix the injuries, Boba hadn’t been able just spread bacta on it and call it better.

“I think someone ambushed me but… that’s the extent of it.” He stated quietly after thinking a moment, peering at Boba’s face as the other looked up at the ceiling.

The room went quiet, the silence uneasy.

As he watched Boba, Din tried to piece together what he was seeing even as he pressed himself closer to the other man. It didn’t look like Boba was angry at him or disappointed, regardless of how much that cruel, hissing voice in Din’s head tried to claim he was. The arm around him was still possessive, protective, wrapped around him with the touch earlier having been as kind as always.

But Boba did look upset.

No… no, not upset.

Din narrowed his eyes before letting out a soft noise of realization, attracting Boba’s attention again as the scarred man turned his head. ‘He’s worried and sad.’ Din shifted, sitting up slowly, ignoring how sore he felt as he instead shifted his leg up and over Boba’s hip, straddling the other to wrap his taller body around the broad one buried in pillows.

Boba’s hands instantly came to rest on his hips, letting out a questioning noise as Din buried his face in Boba’s neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Boba’s body went taut under him at Din’s whisper, hands spasming on the tapered waist.

“I...” Boba swallowed thickly, the noise almost echoing in Din’s ears as he continued nuzzling slowly, curled into the warm, enjoying the feel of bare skin against his own underneath a thick blanket.

The nights of the desert were so cold, even inside, so they had night and day blankets. The glide of it felt enjoyable against Din’s bare skin, but not enough for his flaccid cock to even twitch against Boba’s stomach.

“I know this won’t happen again. I’m not leaving.” Din repeated quietly. He needed the other to know he didn’t blame him. Honestly, Boba couldn’t control everyone; there was always one idiot. And it was better to have it revealed earlier rather than later.

Because Din knew that Boba would never suffer a fool in his court, in his sanctum. No, whoever had done this to Din would be found and they would be dealt with; though Din couldn’t promise he would be leaving the throne room any time soon without his armor on.

But as he nuzzled into his lover, likely smearing the bruise cream on the others skin, he knew that this was not Boba’s fault.

Boba remained tense for several minutes before suddenly the tension dropped entirely from his body, as if all the air had left him out of the relief he was feeling, his hand resting on the base of Din’s spine like a brand.

“Mesh’la, ner mesh’la. Ni ceta.” He whispered thickly, running that broad hand slowly up and down Din’s spine. Humming faintly, Din pressed his face into the shoulder, pressing his lips to the scarred skin, feeling the pulse of blood beneath.

“There is nothing to forgive buir’ika. Ner buir’ika.” He mumbled, his limbs going looser and looser the more Boba petted him.

“Yes, I’m your daddy. This won’t happen again,” Boba promised, his other hand cupping the back of Din’s hair, scratching at his scalp once again as his body grew heavy once more with the careful petting.

Din still had enough mind to give a grouchy little mewl, huffing when Boba let out a questioning noise that rumbled through his chest.

“I want my collar back,” Din grunted, smiling sleepily into the Boba’s chest when his lover started laughing. Nary a whisper of a sound escaped him, but it was all the more enjoyable for the relief and warmth of it.

“Indeed, princess,” Boba agreed quietly, squeezing Din to his chest. “You’ll have it back as you wish.”


	6. The idiot

For the last week, no one had seen hide nor hair of Princess.

Several people speculated what was going on of course, behind closed doors, though not too loudly. Not with the silver armored Mandalorian back, standing behind Boba’s throne with his hand on the back.

Whatever hunt the other had been on must have been long but he was back now and as menacing and silent as ever, only ever talking to Fett or Shand.

Setting fear into everyone as they expected the man to kill someone any day after what happened to Princess.

But yes, there were speculations despite him.

Some thought that Fett had gotten rid of Princess.

Damaged wares and all. Though it seemed odd but hey, wouldn’t be the first time a ruler of Tatooine had gotten rid of their favorite for a reason.

Some thought Fett was simply keeping him to the bedroom for now, not wanting him out as another target once more and simply fucking him in there.

The last and least believed theory was that Fett was letting Princess rest, that the head injury was severe enough that Fett wanted the other healed.

Everyone however agreed that Fett had been in a _foul_ mood ever since though.

A lack of relief some thought, which gave credence to the other no longer having Princess.

After all, the other was a throne whore, what ruler cared about the comfort of their slave bed warmer?

But then Princess was back and several courtiers almost had a heart attack when they saw him again.

Because the other was sitting on Fett’s throne.

No, not simply sitting, _lounging_ on the throne, wiry legs settled over one stone arm with his arms settled on the other, head pillowed on his arms as he gazed at everyone with lidded eyes. The others collar was back on, the thin, shiny beskar leash hooked to the throne the man was sitting on as if he _owned_ it.

And Fett was standing by the throne, watching the stairs.

His helmet was in Princess possession, resting on the throne by the man’s stomach. Occasionally one of Princess hands would stray from the arm and pet the helmet almost affectionately, as if it was Fett’s scarred head.

Occasionally, Princess would also flicker his eyes to look around the room, giving everyone a lazy, almost smug smile.

As if he knew something they did not.

Having a slave lord over them wasn’t a pleasant sensation. The ones who had scoffed at the idea of Fett letting Princess heal was suddenly doubting their own thoughts.

Because if anyone but Princess, even Shand, had sat in the throne as if it was theirs, Fett would have gutted them.

Quietly, people were settling around, Fett never looking away from the stairs.

Loath as they were to get his attention, everyone remained quiet, the musicians settling on their stages but only nervously fiddling with their instruments.

Fett ignored them all, his lip curling into an impatient but silent snarl as bartenders served the people lining quietly up around the room.

Several tensed as slowly, a growing, growling noise came from the man, his impatience skyrocketing steadily and when his hand dropped towards his blaster, several contemplated hiding behind tables.

“Buir’ika.” A low, rasped voice murmured, Princess sitting up with the helmet hugged to his stomach.

Instantly, Fett turned on his heel, his anger evaporating as he instead stepped closer to the throne, to his Princess. He murmured something in Mando’a that Princess returned in the same tone though a clear difference in dialect.

The little they could see of Fett’s face transformed, from his blank look to fondness, the man leaning down to cup the others chin. Softly, he kissed Princess, thumbing lightly at his chin as the darker man sighed happily into the others lip, hand coming up to cup the back of Fett’s head.

Anyone else would have hand their hand removed.

But Princess merely got a low hum of pleasure from Fett, running his fingertips over the man’s scalp scars before literally scratching gently behind one ear.

As if Fett was a fucking feline.

To the shock of many, Fett actually rumbled in pleasure though he pulled away quickly when there was a commotion at the top of the stairs.

It was enough to distract everyone from the impossible scene they had seen.

There was shouting at the stairs, a fleshy THUMP and then a body came rolling down the stairs, Shand prowling down after with a wicked smirk on her face.

And a black eye.

Fett narrowed his eyes at that before looking at the body laying at the bottom of the stairs, the man struggling to get to his feet, wrapped in expensive layers of fabric.

His face was currently rather mauled but recognizable to those around still.

Feruko Snalla, humanoid, born on Naboo supposedly, once an Imperial captain of some sort and later on a lieutenant of a gang.

His boss had sent him, a New Republic gang, the Vipers nest, the one that had scraped and bowed and promised Fett a foothold on Coruscant via the gang. As long as there was an alliance, the King of Tatooine and the gang could benefit each other.

Fett’s face turned to stone and yet his eyes were fire as the now frightened man was struggling to get to his feet. “This one?” He questioned, a snarl curling his lip as Shand snorted and nodded.

“Idiot kept a scrap of the babydoll.” Shand snarked, smirking at the back of Snalla as she kept a blaster trained on him, her rifle on her back.

Opening his mouth, most likely to defend himself, his mouth snapped shut when Princess let out a soft hum behind Fett, the scarred man turning instantly to his throne warmer. “Princess.” He stated quietly.

Tilting his head, Princess stared at Snalla before nodding. “I remember him. He kept following me around, tried talking with me,” Princess words were clearly enough for Fett but he kept talking. “I believe I scratched him, his neck should have nail marks.” Princess noted absently, rubbing at his head.

“Now, wait a minute,” Snalla started only to cry out when Shand dragged the folds of scarves at his neck down, exposing the pale neck.

Sure enough, scratches lined the pale neck.

Combined with the babydoll fabric and what little Princess seemed to recollect, it was more than enough as Fett stepped off the dais with his silent snarl, Princess watching with quiet interest from the throne as he hugged the helmet.

Snalla dropped to his knees, bringing his hands up as he pleaded for mercy, telling him that the Vipers wouldn’t work with Fett if he was injured, the spineless man sniveling for mercy.

Fett simply loomed over the other man for a minute before turning his head, looking to Princess, a question in his eyes, his lips still curled with a snarl.

For a second, it looked like Princess didn’t know what to do.

Then he lifted one fist and drew his thumb across his neck, smiling sweetly at his King.

Fett turned back around and drew his knife from his belt, the same knife the court had seen the man peel fruit for Princess with.

With one smooth, easy slash, he drew it across Snalla’s throat, deep enough for the man to die and yet…

Shallow.

Snalla choked, his hands coming up as he gasped for air, eyes bulging as he tried to keep his throat shut. Blood poured between his fingers and under his palms, the man shaking before falling face forward onto the sand.

He rasped, spasmed, the man dying in front of the terrified court.

Fett simply spat on the dying man and wiped his blade on the others many layers of dark fabric before returning to the throne, Shand getting a bottle from the bartender with a happy grunt.

Not many paid attention to her though, their terrified focus on Princess and Fett.

Gloved hands cupped Princess cheek, gently rubbing before Fett leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, the two murmuring quietly to each other before Princess stood, the soft jingle of beskar chain sounding.

Fett settled down on the throne with Princess sitting down the moment the man was comfortable, helmet still in Princess hands. “Someone get rid of that trash, feed it to the scavengers.” Fett gestured to the death twitching body, a heavyset devaronian coming forward quickly to hoist the still bleeding human onto his shoulder.

Princess just watched everyone with lidded eyes, smiling smugly from his position against Fett, seeming so much more than just a throne whore in that moment.


	7. Murder Princess

Din’s body speaks about battle, about violence and hurt.

Of survival where he shouldn’t have, cauterized wounds that should have killed him.

It speaks about skills that must have been honed and yet here he still stands, standing slightly behind Boba on a leash as the man has left the throne for once, ‘Princess’ wearing scanty clothes that some would not think a warrior should wear.

Its comforting though and Din likes to be pretty for Boba, just as he would have fetched Boba a drink if that was all he really wanted.

Din however knows that Boba just wanted to stretch his legs in all actuality.

He’s listened to the man complain about how little comfort the stone throne brought him, the stiff legs and sore back and yet still the man rejected the idea of pillows in the throne.

Grumbled about wearing his armor and how little the pillows would do for the rigidness of his armor.

Something Din knew was shit and he was going to get pillows into that throne, he knew what kind of pillows worked well when wearing armor, giving padding and support..

The beskar chain in Boba’s hand hangs in a loose loop as Din eyed people, jingling lightly when Boba’s hand moves but the noise and the chatter of people is not enough to distract Din from an unsettled feeling as he stood at Boba’s back.

Shand was out, dealing with an underground deal with her own captain and underlings.

And ever since Din had nuzzled his face into Boba’s neck, he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a feeling that grew even as he remained cuddled into Boba. Maybe a bit more clingy than usual, Boba had given him a look through the helmet visor but not questioned him.

It wasn’t something Din could put his finger on though.

But he has learned not to disregard that feeling, the feeling of _wrong._

It practically aches through his body, his old scars aching.

Someone has forgotten those scars, the history that lays plain on Din’s skin with the sheer silks and gossamer thin fabrics.

Because the focus suddenly narrows as someone, a pudgy gamorran, raises a blaster at Boba’s back.

At _his_ buir’ika back.

An assassination attempt, right in front of Din and his focus _narrows_ as it would in a hunt.

To Boba, to himself, to the people around him, to the gamorran and the others clearly in cahoots and to the potential weapons around him.

Din counts three, three perps.

Three idiots thinking they could kill the King of Tatooine.

Without his helmet, his snarl cuts through the air as he grabs a polished serving tray off the serving bar, raising it enough to deflect the blast and then he chucks it with all his might. Like a discus, it sings through the air, the edges sharp enough that it buries itself in the chest of the gamorrean.

He squeals like a pig for slaughter, chest spurting blood.

The sound is piercing and the wet, warm blood splashing him is uncomfortable, especially without his helmet but Din is _angry_ and therefore does not care too much. Someone is trying to kill Boba.

_His_ Boba.

Yanking his chain out of Boba’s thankfully gloved hands, Din wraps it around his own to a manageable length and lashes out to the human moving forward with a sword, ignoring the screaming of the court trying to flee.

Instead he moves forward and snaps the delicate beskar chain forward, wrapping it around the neck of the man and pulling him forward. He hits the floor, and his own sword, with a cry of pain.

But still alive.

Din can’t have that as he steps forward, out of his sandals, and places his bare foot on the humans neck, pressing down with his heel and twisting.

A sickening crack fills the air as the act of breaking the man’s neck also pushes him down on the blade, blood splashing up Din’s leg but Din’s focus already shifted on the last would be assassin.

A woman, two slim daggers in her hands, her wide eyed focus on Din as he snarls again in challenge, standing in front of Boba, the chain swinging almost lazily as he tries to decide if he is to kill her or not.

She is a threat, but she may have answers if she was hired. But she was going to harm Boba, Din does not suffer threats to what he loves ide-

A warm hand, gloved hand drops to his shoulder, thumb rubbing lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Easy Princess,” Boba’s voice is a steady drawl, the vocoder crackling slightly. “I want this one alive. I want answers.” He murmured, both pride and anger in his voice.

Decision taken form Din, even as he snarls angrily, taking a step forward towards the assassin only to pause when she falls on her knees, throwing her blades away, begging for mercy from Boba.

Din snorts in disgust but waits for Boba to call him off, his body trembling in leftover adrenaline, anger and so much fear, even as he gingerly presses the end of the somewhat bloody chain into Boba’s hand.

It feels better, when Boba has the end of his chain, the comforting weight of the beskar now so familiar to Din.

He rests his head on the shorter man’s shoulder, body trembling easing slowly as Boba’s other hand finds the base of his spine and starts stroking. But he doesn’t take his eyes of the brown haired woman kneeling on the ground as she continues pleading with Boba asking short but pointed questions.

Questions that will determined her future.

Several courtiers are slowly coming back out of their hiding, the bartender behind the bar watching warily.

After Din’s head got smashed in, people seemed to forget that Princess must have been a warrior, for all the lace and silk he wears, bared to everyone’s gaze.

They won’t forget any time soon now, as a human and a gamorrean starts twitching in death spasms and a third begs for her life, watching ‘Princess’ with more fear than Boba.

Din’s body is a patchwork of battle and survival.

He still fights, he’s fit.

And he is a vicious protector when what is his has become threatened.

People will think twice before they aim for Fett’s back once more.


	8. Bratty Princess

The King of Tatooine was frustrated.

Oh, it wasn’t obvious, Boba was dealing with the aftermath of an assassination attempt with barked orders and delegating his guards around, the remaining assassin already brought down to the dungeon for proper questioning.

But Din could tell, even with the helmet on and the rest of the armor.

Boba was frustrated.

It was in the short, barked orders, the tone of his voice, the way his glove creaked around the leash in his grasp.

Initially he didn’t get it, followed his buir’ika closely, a bit uncertain. Maybe Boba was upset with him for killing the assassins?

Did he think it made him look weak, to have his ‘slave’ killing those that would come for him. Did Boba think that Din should have just warned it so Boba could take care of it on his own?

But then it hit him, when Boba raised his hand and squeezed his hip for a moment in a proprietary touch.

Boba _liked_ what Din had done.

He found it _arousing_ , watching Din take care of would be killers, dressed in silk and lace, cracking a neck with his bare foot.

He had _liked_ watching Din behave practically feral and maybe he liked it just as much when Din instantly submitted to him after. The way Din had slid his leash back into the others hand, stepped down when Boba told him to.

At the very least, Boba had liked him killing in silk and lace.

If Din’s other suspicions were right, he’d find out later but for now… he abused the knowledge he had gained.

He rubbed lightly up against Boba, brushed his fingertips where he knew the kute and armor didn’t cover, little neck touches or low on the waist. Or teasing at where the kute was, knowing the muscles would feel him rubbing.

Riling the other up even more, frustrating Boba as he was busy working and therefore couldn’t touch Din right now.

He was riling his buir’ika on purpose now, excitement coiling low in his stomach.

Boba always took care of him, was nice or stern depending on what Din needed.

In the beginning, he had needed both the stick and the carrot as Boba had said, a mix of punishment and reward, Din’s heart broken in so many ways.

He knew that he’d see Grogu again, but to be separated from his child, despite the updates Luke Skywalker sent to his comms…

It wasn’t the same.

His heart was _bleeding_ without his child and he had needed Boba, needed to not think.

And Boba had given him it, in spades, first by giving Din missions on Tatooine, keeping the beroya and the hunter in Din alive and later on with his hands warm and rough and then soft and caring between it all.

The look of absolute _fury_ on Boba’s face when Din had cauterized a thigh wound was something Din would never forget, but it was the disappointment that had hurt more. Boba had dealt with him after, once his thigh wound was properly healed.

Din would rather not be pulled over Boba’s lap again, his ass had burned and not in the pleasurable way but at least he had learned that spanking wasn’t his thing and Boba had learned that Din knew when to use his safe words.

Green, yellow and red were very useful.

The bacta on his ass afterward too, Boba’s dom drop easing out as Din cuddled in after his ass was cooling down. Both speculated that Din, due to his years in armor, was oversensitive and maybe, _maybe_ in a few years, he could handle spanking, but that was not now.

But there were other ‘punishments’ that Din enjoyed and it was clear that Boba was getting closer and closer to snapping.

And he did when Din let his hand run along the others thigh, inching towards the inside only for his hand to be grabbed, beskar chain and leather glove pressing into the back of his hand. Before he could complain, Boba reached up his other hand and wrapped it around the back of Din’s neck.

It was heavy, restraining and Boba pressed his thumb against the side of Din’s neck, lightly cutting of the flow of blood.

It made Din slightly lightheaded. “Everyone, clear out. We’re done for the day.” Boba growled out, moving towards the dais before anyone had taken a step, stepping behind the throne and towards their room.

Boba had clearly had enough of Din being bratty.

“Bratty Princess,” He hissed softly as they entered, unhooking the beskar leash to throw it onto a chair, pushing Din further towards their large bed. “I was going to reward you, being such a beautiful little hunter, but you had to be a little brat, didn’t you.” He seethed but when his helmet came off, Din could see the amusement and excitement in the others amber eyes.

Boba had _liked_ this too, Din acting out, being clingy and touchy, it had turned his steady buir’ika into something much darker and needier too.

“Buir’ika.” He whined, only to shut up when Boba lifted a hand.

“Undress, now.” Boba sternly ordered, his eyes flickering over the blood staining Din’s outfit.

Fair enough, blood in their bed wasn’t fun, but Din still whined and squirmed petulantly, wanting to be a problem for some reason until Boba reached out and caught his chin in a hard grip, leather glove rubbing abrasively. “Princess, you’re already getting a punishment, don’t push me into taking away your orgasm too.” He hissed, eyes narrowed as he peered up at Din.

Whelp, that got Din moving, chucking his babydoll and stockings, shivering happily when he heard Boba laugh darkly at the speed he was removing his clothes.

Standing on one foot, rolling the second stocking down, Din did not expect it when Boba suddenly pushed at his shoulder, yelping and pinwheeling as he fell back on the bed with a cry before whining loudly when Boba grabbed his leg and ripped the stocking off, throwing it over his shoulder.

Boba paused then, eyeing Din as he pressed a kiss to the younger man’s knee. “Color sweetheart.” He whispered.

“Green.” Din whimpered with need, shuddering and yelping with surprise when he got a predatory smirk before Boba bit hard at the inside of his thigh, intent to leave behind marks others would see and know.

The intent and sensation, hurting initially and then trailing off to a throb that fit with the beat of his heart had Din whimpering, grabbing at the sheets to hold onto something, anything. Manda, how he love Boba!

“Oh Princess, I’m going to mess you up.” Boba promised quietly against the reddening skin, chuckling darkly once more when all that promise got him was a loud, eager keen with Din arching his neck, legs spread with Boba holding one of them up.

It showed of his captured cock, hard and with a growing wet spot inside its confine of fabric, Din’s captured leg trembling like an eager fathier.

Willing and ready for everything Boba would do to him.


	9. Princess punishment

Breathing heavily, Din let out a low, keening whine as he tried to keep his hips still, the moisture in his eyes finally overflowing to track down his temples.

When Boba had promised punishment, he _delivered_ and Din loved it, despite how his body throbbed with stimulation and aches, he loved the way Boba could make him feel.

Burning and alive at the same time, his nerves inflamed.

A deep chuckle made Din focus his eyes on Boba, the man smirking at him as he pressed the vibrating plug as deep as he could, barely brushing Din’s prostate as the other jerked hiss, rocking the binders tying him to the headboard. “You look like such a treat Princess, all trussed up and spread for me.” He chortled thickly, eyes flickering over Din’s sweaty and flushed body.

He must look quite the state.

Boba had put his wrists into binders that attached to a hook in their headboard, something Din hadn’t been aware of and wondered when Boba had installed. That hadn’t been enough though, Boba decided, taking away Din’s ability to _touch_ wasn’t enough.

Which was why he had taken two lengths of rope and bent both of Din’s legs, tying calves to thighs, robbing Din of his ability to cover himself up when it was so easy for Boba to push his knees apart and spread the other lewdly, the soles of his feet pressed to the sheets below them.

Which left Boba to take what he wanted, pressing kisses and bites all over Din’s body, sucking dark marks that would turn into hickies by the morning as he played Din’s body with the familiarity of an instrument.

Boba knew what made Din sigh and what made him cry out and he wasn’t holding back as he bit and licked and sucked, turning the other reddened and purple where the galaxy left him yellow and blue.

He had Din’s first orgasm wrung out of him by those touches alone, smug as he watched the thick splatter on Din’s heaving chest and stomach. “Sweet Princess, so sweet for me.” He whispered while rubbing his thumb over Din’s spasming pucker.

It had been a teasing touch, the dryness of Boba’s thumb pulling on the sensitive nerves until the man shifted and brought over the lube, the pop of the cap making Din’s cock twitch eagerly as he whined hopefully.

He wanted Boba inside him, wanted the burn of the other fucking into him, feeling how his thighs ached at how far he had to spread due to Boba’s thick thighs and he was going to get it now.

He thought at least.

Because stretched out on Boba’s fingers, the man had shifted with the smuggest smirk of all time and produced black plug, seemingly made of synth rubber, that had a gap in it with his free hand. Confused, Din had stared, panting slightly only to yelp when the plug _opened_.

If Din was to describe it, it looked like a mouth opening and closing, like a hand puppet mouth would open and close.

It opened into a spread and closed, Boba clearly pushing at something on the bottom. “Prostate massager with vibrating and dilator function,” Boba purred at him before pausing, eyeing Din’s wide, surprised expression. “…Color sweetheart.” He stated a tad more seriously, a request, not a question.

Licking his lips, Din stared at the toy, watching how it opened and how it closed, eyes wide

Now, Din was familiar with sex toys, being in the bounty business lead to him learning quite a bit about brothels if he was honest, catching his targets in brothels quite often and Boba had introduced him to quite the variety once they got together.

But this was new and Din didn’t have _experience_ before Boba.

Imagining that thing inside of him, already able to tell that it was as long as Boba but much thicker…

He clenched down on Boba’s fingers and let out a plaintive noise. “Green, green buir’ika.” He swallowed thickly, eyes still wide.

Boba’s serious expression turned amused, slowly sliding his fingers out and laughing when Din let out a keen at the feeling. “Mesh’la, you just can’t help yourself can you. Greedy little whore.” He teased, coating the plug liberally in lube.

Carefully, he placed the tip against Din’s hole and gently teased, smirking as Din started squirming helplessly against the bed, trying to bear down on the toy.

“Greedy…” He breathed out then pressed it slowly but resolutely.

Pressing his head back into the pillows, Din stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, legs shaking like a newborn calf as the plug stretched and filled and _pressed_ right up against his prostate as flared end prevented it from going further. “Oh maker, oh sweet maker, buir’ika, buir’ika!” He shuddered, his toes curling into the sheets.

Leering back at him, Boba tapped at the base of the toy. “Sweetheart, you ready?” He questioned, chuckling when Din gave an eager nod, shuddering hard.

Boba eyed him before pressing down on the base, the toy inside Din flaring open and turning on at the same time, right against his prostate.

Throwing his head into the pillows with a cry, Din legs twitched as best they could, straining in the ropes as he twisted as hard as he could, his cock hard against his stomach and dripping pre over the mess already there.

Laughing huskily, Boba ran his free hand up Din’s chest to his collar covered throat, closing his hand lightly as Din cried out, feeling the vibrations and the gasps for air through the vulnerable skin. “That’s it, be as loud as you want, jate. Beautiful Princess.” He crooned, palming his own cock through his pants and shifting slightly.

“B-Buir’ika!” Din loud, sobbing for air as he closed in on a second orgasm, sensitive from the first one.

“Go on, I know you can cum for me,” Boba pressed a kiss to Din’s knee, smirking against the skin as Din gave a low cry. “Cum for me princess.” He purred, hand reaching down to carefully roll the others balls in his hands.

Sobbing out his name, Din did, trembling as tears of over stimulation rolled down his temples, barely able to see Boba for the tears in his eyes.

“Din, need you to give me your color.” Boba’s voice penetrated the fog of Din’s head and he moaned, unsure if it was relief or disappointment as the plug was turned off.

“G-Green. Green. Buir. Want.” He slurred, feeling Boba’s hand stroke along the inside of his thigh as he snapped for air, feeling like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

But oh, he felt so _good_ at the same time, yelping as the plug was closed inside of him, the sensation of it closing making it feel both smaller and yet bigger at the same time, Din snapping for air as Boba steadily pulled the plug out to discard it to the side, cock valiantly twitching against his stomach.

“Color.” Boba demanded again, as he pushed down his pants, his cock springing out with a stifled groan. Kark, he was so hard but if Din said no, Boba would deal with it while looking at Din.

Hell, Boba wouldn’t last long anyhow, looking at the gaping entrance to Din’s body, cum coating his stomach as beads of sweat rolled on his flushed skin.

Din was the picture of debauchery and Boba swore as he gripped the base of his cock to prevent humiliating himself.

“Ye-Yellow. Yellow. Gotta breath, gotta breath buir’ika.” Din gasped, Boba’s hands shooting to Din’s sides and hip, murmuring quiet praise as he soothed along the others side, watching closely as Din panted like a race horse, heaving for air. “…Green.”

The soft whisper had Boba moving between the others legs, grabbing the lube to coat himself.

Just to be sure, the last thing Boba wanted was to hurt Din this way and there was no thing as too much lube when toys were involved, synth rubber had a tendency to make lube dry out.

Carefully, Din keening, Boba pushed in, eyes locked on Din’s face as he held onto the others hips, leaving behind red finger shaped marks.

Din had pressed his head back into the pillows, watery eyes clenched shut, cheeks flushed darkly with his mouth open to draw in air.

Boba couldn’t resist leaning in, peeling one hand off the hips to settle on the bed to hold him up, flickering his tongue into Din’s mouth, tasting his lover as he went balls deep with a trickle of sweat rolling down his spine.

Din moaned and Boba felt the last of his patience snap, setting up a brutal pace as he used Din’s willing body, snarling praises and filthy curses for the other to hear.

Din felt too kriffing great beneath him, beautifully responsive as he cried out with pleasure and over stimulation, his legs twitching and jerking against Boba’s sides and hip, hands desperately tugging at the binder.

And he howled when Boba wrapped his hand around the others oversensitive erection, older man barely getting in a few strokes before Din stiffened with a scream, cumming dry in Boba’s grasp as he clenched tight as a vice, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head.

Boba barely took notice of it, his own climax washing over him with enough force to white out the corners of his eyes, dropping onto his elbows to prevent smoshing his lover.

Panting sharply, Boba hips twitched a few times before relaxing, huffing as he raised his head.

Grunting deeply as he took note of his unconscious lover, Boba couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at literally fucking the other unconscious. Hadn’t done that before and it made Boba want to preen a bit if he was honest even as he carefully checked Din over, taking shifting carefully pulling out of Din and dropping to the side.

‘Sweet manda, I think I pulled a muscle.’ Boba thought with shaky amusement, reaching up to undo the binders first and then pull on the knots of the ropes, stretching Din’s legs out. Din let out a groan, even unconscious the blood flow returning making him ache as Boba chuckled and pressed a kiss to the others cheek.

Glancing over Din, Boba noted tiredly that he should clean the other up, at least remove the cum staining the others dark skin and into the wry pubes.

Buuuuuut… Boba was now entirely sure he pulled a muscle as his back ached.

‘Five minutes. Five minutes and I’ll clean him up and myself.’ Boba promised himself, pulling Din to his side to nuzzle the others sweat flattened hair and draw the blankets up around their filthy bodies.

Five minutes turned into both of them sleeping and Boba, laughing and apologizing, helping a cursing Din shave his pubes the next day as the crusty hair would be awful and just pull out roots instead of trying to wash.

Poor Din.


	10. Sleepy princess

There was a New Republican representative in their midst.

The pretty thing had come wandering in, as if she owned the place, as if she wasn’t scared and fair be, she had quite the terrifying guards with her. They had stayed back when she presented her case to Fett of course, the woman making sure not to stand on the trap door as they were standing to the sides.

And clearly they were trigger happy in their expensive gear.

Fett had leaned his elbow on one arm, Shand on the other, listening with a bored and slightly tired look on his face as he glanced over the preening human in front of him wrapped in expensive silk and leather, the cuts of her clothes the latest of fashion.

A honeypot for sure, they were all familiar with the tactic, a pretty thing that could sling pretty words in an attempt to get more out of a deal, even if Fett didn’t look the slightest interest.

A few were rather grateful Princess wasn’t there, after the display they had gotten to see, they weren’t sure Princess wouldn’t try to kill this pretty blond standing in front of Fett’s throne, pushing her bosom out.

Least she was smart enough not to stand on the former rancor pit door.

Of course, then there was a hiss and a snap, the sound of a door opening behind the dais and the court held their breath, half certain they were about to witness a bloodbath, about to witness Princess deal with what wasn’t even competition clearly if Fett’s bored eyes meant anything.

A few, soft steps and then Princess appeared in the doorway behind the throne, standing in a closed robe that was so dark blue it almost looked black and was slightly too short on him, inching up his thighs and yet long in the arms, carrying an armful of pillows as he peered blearily at everyone.

His hair was tangled mess and his neck, covered with the beskar collar, looked like it had been mauled.

Princess was wearing Fett’s robe, carrying pillows in his arms as he made his way from the room to the throne with an odd walk that was neither limping or waddling and yet both, pausing to lean down and press a kiss to his King’s cheek.

Then he straightened and stared at Shand, everyone holding their breath as they waited for what was going to happen now as Fett sat up, no longer leaning on the throne arm.

Princess gave Shand a darker glare when nothing happened, the woman simply laughing as she shifted off the throne arm. Instantly, Princess stuffed one pillow against the widest space with the arm, the second went over the arm Shand had been sitting on with the third and smallest pillow being stuffed between Fett’s sprawled legs.

Fett simply looked amused, peering up at his bed warmer with a raised brow.

Princess grumbled slightly, fluffing the pillow on the widest space against the arm. “I’m sore.” He rasped out, barely heard at all due to how low it was. The answer had a wide smirk cracking over Fett’s face as Princess gingerly crawled into his lap and sat down, back against the large pillow and legs resting over the arm Shand had been sitting on.

Lounging over his King.

Fett, as always, accommodated him, shifting his shoulders and his torso until Princess could rest his head on the man’s pauldron.

One of Fett’s glove covered hand rested over Princess thighs and the other came up to play with his hair, stroking carefully as Princess grumbles trailed off into pleased little sighs instead. Then Princess gave the New Republic representative a bleary stare. “…Who that?” He slurred out, not even a full sentence, very little care in his voice.

Fett hummed, still playing with Princess wavy hair. “Just a member from New Republic, Organa has heard I took over it seems,” He stated a tad wryly. “I imagine lady hutt killer wanted to either confirm the rumors or form an alliance… we’ll see.” Fett settled on easily.

The representative looked vaguely offended and yet horrified, opening her mouth only for Princess to beat her to the punch. “Lady what now?” Princess blinked in tired bemusement.

“Organa strangled Jabba the hutt with a slave chain. I salvaged the footage from his barge when I got out,” Fett gave a slow, vicious looking smile. “It was the funniest shit ever, watching that dainty little lady go feral on the giant slug, well maybe outside of Kryze look during the darksaber debacle.” He chuckled quietly, smirking when Princess grumbled and actually _whacked_ him lightly in the chest with a hissed ‘stop moving, ow.’

Rightly on the armor but still.

Anyone else be dead.

The sex last night must have been out of this galaxy for Princess to get away with it.

And if the look on the lady’s face, it seemed she realized that her mission wasn’t going to be as successful as she had hoped on looks alone. Because there was no one that had Princess beat for Fett’s attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be sex, lol, the punishment will be written, just not right now XD


	11. The king's mood

When the King of Tatooine was in a bad mood, you better behave.

Now, why Fett was in a bad mood was hard to say.

It certainly wasn’t Shand’s fault, she was the only one to escape Fett’s vicious lashing or glares and was the only one that could calm him down with a low tch or a quiet word.

And his temper seemed to grow by the day, tolerating less and less. By the time Fett punched one of his weapon runners for loosing a shipment…

Well, people were walking on eggshells by the time they realized what had put Fett in a bad mood.

Princess was nowhere in sight, hadn’t been in at least four to five days and when someone had dared to approach Shand about it, she had raised a brow at them and then shrugged. “Visiting his son.”

So, no sexual relief and with how fond Fett was of Princess, most likely _other_ emotions that people didn’t want to think about were tangled into that too and it seemed like Princess would not be back in days yet.

And then came the growled question the King had shot Shand about a week in. “Djarin, have you heard anything from him?” He tilted his helmet in Shand’s direction, t-visor somehow doing nothing to shield the glare the man had.

Shrugging, Shand had crossed her arms over her chest. “Said he was following a bounty after leaving Yavin 4, haven’t heard from him since. You know how restless he can be after visiting.” The sharpshooter stated quietly, a thoughtful look in her dark eyes.

Fett cursed and then waved for the bartender to send over his usual drink.

So, first his bed slave had left to see his son and now also his favorite hunter was gone.

That had never before coincided and it left the King of Tatooine in a _foul_ mood, a mood none of them could do anything about.

Best thing they could do was pray to the karking Force or maker that either of them arrived and did so soon.

Hopefully Princess but at this point either of them would do before Fett killed someone as the man started lurking more and more in his armor, fiddling with vibroblades and blasters as if he’s itching to hurt someone.

Thankfully though, after about two and a half week, one of them do arrive, just as Fett looks to be on the snapping point,  having stepped down off his throne and dais to shake down an idiot from the core who thought it smart to antagonize him, holding the man up by the front of his shirt as he snarls.

Djarin limps into the dim hall, his armor in need of buffing and his spear strapped to his back, a bit worse for wear clearly but alive if injured as his limp indicates and shiny as always despite the scruffing of his armor, nothing a little polish won’t remove.

Fett zeros in on him the moment he steps in too, thick suspense seemingly choking the air as he drops the core member.

Quietly, the silver mando makes his way over to the dais as the core member crawls away as quickly as possible, wanting to be out of Fett’s ire.

He needn’t worry, the man’s attention is firmly on his hunter and when he’s close enough, Fett’s hand lashes out and captures a helmet covered chin to bring him down, growling up at him, his vocoder cracking at the sound. “You’re late. And injured,” He hissed, vicious rage practically dripping of every syllable. “Explain.” The tone of voice would have lesser men shaking in their boots.

Even the mando drops at the tone, to his knees, Fett still holding his chin even as he clearly hisses again at the move, pausing when the man hooks his hands into Fett’s belt with the visor tilted up at him. “Ni ceta. I didn’t mean to.” Djarin mumbles, his voice lacking bite and sounding iffy even through the vocoder.

If one was to take a guess, it sounds as if he might be concussed and it makes people wonder what kind of bounty he was hunting that has injured him.

They’ve seen the mando fight, he’s a violent force of beskar, blaster and spear that can dispatch of any threat coming his way with ease.

And yet here he is, kneeling at the feet of another man.

The respect he must have for Fett or the debt he owes him must be vast, kneeling on the sand of the throne room.

Fett growls loudly before hooking a hand under the man’s armpit, heaving him up with a moan of pain from the bounty hunter. “Shand, take charge. I’ll deal with this!” He snapped out, pulling the mando with him. “I swear Djarin, if you cauterized even one fucking little thing, I will pull you over my lap an-” Whatever else the king was going to do was cut off by the door closing behind him.

Shand easily settles on the arm of the throne, looking vaguely amused, though for those that knew her, they’d see the worried twitch of her lip.

The court very slowly goes back to normal after that, several able to breath more easily because now that one of them is back, surely Fett’s mood will improve and no one will die for pissing him off?

Right?

Well, they are sort of right but at the same time, finding the silver mando kneeling where Princess is normally sat is still a heart stopping moment.

Instead of standing behind the throne as he normally does, the day after his arrival, Djarin is kneeling in his armor on Princess pillow, his helmeted head set against Fett’s thigh. Fett has placed a gloved hand on the back of his bounty hunter’s neck, holding him in place seemingly.

Fett moves occasionally, speaking with whoever petitions him, dealing with idiots, sending of teams, dismissing some and outright laughing at one request from the core world.

Djarin moves only when Fett moves, in so much that he follows the moves of his king’s body and the grip on his neck.

Beside the throne is the beskar spear Djarin uses, leaning against the arm. So far and yet so close at the same time and yet Djarin clearly does not intend to use it as he submits to his King and this humiliation.

Behind hands and fans to keep one cool for those that own one, whispered speculations are exchanged.

Did the King put his hunter to his bed, peel him out of his armor and make him submit?

Its clear he’s being punished at the very least, kneeling where Fett’s favorite whore is usually suited.

Its a power move, though a few wonder how Princess will take it when he returns.

Not many can claim to have a fully armored mandalorian on their knees though and it makes for quite the threat display to any outsider that shows up at Fett’s strange court.

Some speculate _why_ the bounty hunter is being punished.

Is it because he was late?

Because he was injured?

Maybe Fett just doesn’t like being kept out of the loop?

There had been no mention of the bounty Djarin had been hunting, maybe he had lost the target and that was why he was now suited on his knees in his armor.

They can speculate but none of them are right of course.

If they could see below the armor, they’d see the bruises and burns on Din’s body, could see the cauterized on the left calf and the lines of bruises along Din’s back.

None of it had been properly cared for until Din had returned to Tatooine, to Boba.

And if there is one thing Boba won’t suffer, it is something being cruel to his Princess, not even Din himself.


	12. Drop

His buir’ika was unhappy with him.

No, his buir’ika was _angry_ with him and the thought made Din’s body tremble inside his armor even as he remained still against Boba’s thigh, feeling the warmth of the others hand through the glove.

Yet he was unable to lean up into it.

He knew he had displeased Boba, he despised it when Din cauterized his wound.

But he hadn’t been thinking when he did it, just wanted to get things over and done with and get himself home to Boba.

But Boba was so angry with him, had even made him kneel in armor in the place he was usually only presenting as Princess.

He didn’t mind, not really, but fear twisted with his anxieties, stuck inside his helmet without the soothing touch of Boba’s hand in his hair or over his neck.

This wasn’t part of what they had agreed on.

As Princess, Din got to let go, the creed he had once sworn, the shame he felt, the fear curdling in his stomach, his anxieties and the separation between Din and Princess had steadily been declining but…

They hadn’t talked about it.

And his buir’ika was so _angry_.

Din had woken up in bed alone and Boba had been short with him.

What if the other was done with him?

It wasn’t the first time he had thought that particular thought, that Boba was just humoring a lost little child that amused him just a bit and he got some use out of.

His anxieties had spoken those things loudly, especially in the start but lately they had been more quiet, as Boba gently ran his fingers through Din’s hair, pulled on the chain of his collar or feed him slivers of fruit with a small, wry smile.

But today he was locked in his helmet.

Boba’s hand was on the back of his neck and Din couldn’t… he couldn’t…

Furiously, he bit his bottom lip as his eyes welled with dampness, fighting the urge to cry as a shaking hand wrapped around Boba’s ankle. He felt the hand on the back of his neck squeeze but no reprimand followed and Boba shifted his leg closer to Din, making the grip easier to maintain.

The buzz of the court echoed around them and Din heard Boba laugh at one point but he couldn’t bring himself to focus.

All he could focus on was the dark of his helmet against Boba’s thigh and the itch of his own skin as he desperately wished to strip and beg for forgiveness.

This was a cruel punishment and Din fought against the trembles he could feel spreading to every limb as the hissing voice in his head whispered cruel things to go with the throbbing of hidden bruises and aches from his bounty, the ache there despite the painkillers in his system.

He knew they weren’t true but pressed to Boba’s thigh in his armor and the other’s glove, Din couldn’t bring up his defenses as well as he normally did and a hitched breath escaped him.

The court didn’t hear him but Boba did, his grip suddenly tight on the back of Din’s neck before the man suddenly stood. “I’m done for the day, clear out,” He stated even as he reached down and pulled Din up.

Din swayed, his body used to kneeling but not in the armor while his head felt so heavy and dark, as if there was a cloud hanging around it, dimming everything.

As all his aches announced themselves loudly along with the numbness of his legs as Boba spoke to Fennec, the shorter man holding onto Din’s elbow to support him before they were on the move.

Boba pulled him along, even as the throne room was clearing out, leading them into their room until they were standing by the bed.

Din swayed lightly, struggling to think as he blinked heavily, his breathing speeding up.

“Princess, focus on me, oi, focus.” Boba snapped his fingers in front of his visor before cursing, reaching up and pulling Din’s helmet off.

He dropped it in sheer surprise as he got a good look at Din’s face, lips bitten swollen and eyes full of tears.

Quickly, Boba cupped his face. “Oi, princess, I need you to calm down, I need you to breathe,” He stated sternly even as he pulled Din down to press against their foreheads together. “Breathe for me sweetheart.” He demanded.

And what his buir’ika wanted, his buir’ika got, Din taking in a snapping lungful of air. It seemed to loosen the stone in his chest as his eyes now overflowed and he started crying for real. “Ni ceta, ni ceta buir’ika.” He sobbed, feeling like a blubbering child.

Boba hissed, quietly and if Din had been in a better state of mind, he would have caught the concern in the noise.

As it was, it just made him sob harder as Boba started working him out of his armor. “Din, sweetheart, its alright, you need to calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.” He murmured, voice low and pitched to be soothing.

Din had no idea what was wrong, he had _agreed_ to kneel in his armor after all even if they hadn’t talked about it, just Boba telling him what he expected and Din agreeing but his head and body felt too heavy, it felt like he was going to go through the stone floor somehow and he shook his head with a whine as his vambraces were removed.

Boba cursed again, pausing once he had gotten every armor piece off to eye Din uncertainly. And Din whined deeply at the eyes on him, the urge to hide itching through him along with the need to get on his knees and beg for Boba to hold him.

Realization suddenly echoed in dark eyes “You’re in a karking subdrop,” Boba breathed out, his eyes wide before he let out a curse, Din wincing before whining as Boba pulled him into his body again, pressing Din’s face to his neck.

Choking on a sob, Din pressed closer to the warm skin, clinging to Boba’s cuirass. “B-buir’ika!” He whimpered as he pressed to the warm neck.

A _gloveless_ warm hand was tracing through his flattened curls, Boba crooning softly into his ear as Din flopped against the others hold. “Easy Princess, buir’ika has you. Buir’ika won’t let go. Can you undo my chestplate for me?” The shorter man questioned, his voice so gentle.

Fumblingly, Din managed to reach out and find the locks and twists of the armor, as familiar with this armor as he was with his own.

All the while, Boba rumbled quiet praise into his air, his hands rubbing over Din’s hair, nape and back, the touches slow and grounding as Din finally removed the armor.

Carefully, Boba pushed a whining Din back enough to set the armor down, pulling Din down onto the bed.

Swiftly, he made work of both of their boots then tipped Din back into bed, pressing him to the familiar sheets and pillows, the two settled in together as Din latched onto Boba like an octopus, still sniffling faintly.

Boba did nothing to discourage him, instead he tucked one leg over Din’s hip and pulled him into his body, settling on his back so Din could use his chest as a pillow.

And all the while he murmured quiet, soothing words, telling Din he was a good boy, that Boba loved him, that he was a good sweetheart, a sweet princess and that Boba wouldn’t let go of him until Din told him to.

Sniffling, feeling overwrought and exhausted, Din just pressed himself closer before whining and pawing slightly at Boba’s shirt.

The man got the message Din shorted out brain didn’t seem to manage to say and after a few seconds, he had managed to shrug himself out of it, leaving large expanses of scarred skin for Din to press against once Din had managed to get out of the top half of his kute.

It felt like moving in molasses but once pressed up to Boba, he felt better.

And when his collar locked around his neck, Din felt himself go lax, dropping against Boba’s warm body. “…Din, sweetheart, you with me?” Boba whispered, his warm hand on his nape. Din just let out a small mewl.” Shhh, its alright princess. You can rest. Buir’ika isn’t going anywhere.”

And Din believed him.

Because his buir’ika had never lied to him and that was something even Din’s anxieties couldn’t convince him of as he settled into Boba’s warm chest.


	13. Conversation

If someone was to call him a fool in the moment, Boba would not reject the notion.

He was not omnipotent, he was simply human and humans, unfortunately, made many mistakes throughout their life.

Even the ones reborn in the burning of the Dune sea, screaming to the suns as they pulled themselves free with blood and fluids coating their bodies.

...Huh, sounded a lot like a normal birth when you thought about it, not that Boba had a normal birth to begin with.

Din’s subdrop was as much on his shoulders as it was on Din himself and looking back on it, Boba realized that his anger had spoken where his understanding should have been.

They hadn’t spoken about the armor and its position in their relationship, especially in _this_ part of the relationship and to have Din kneel in front of a full court in his armor, even for cauterizing a wound, was in bad taste.

Especially without a longer, in depth conversation.

Likewise, Din should have alerted him to the issue when his mind started swallow him up. He should have called out red for Boba to hear but a part of Boba was terrified that Din had and he had simply missed it.

He didn’t think so.

There was a reason he had kept his hand on the back of Din’s neck throughout the entire process but the maybe, the maybe haunted Boba, left him sleepless as Din soft breath puffed into his neck where he was curled into Boba.

They would need a long and serious conversation about it for sure.

Maybe several.

The armor and Din’s comfort in and out of it was…

Well, Boba wouldn’t pretend to understand it, he had seen people sworn to codes, to creeds, to religions but he had never been one for it himself.

Maybe the harsh life he had lead, the life without his father but he had never come to swear the resol’nare. He was too young while his father was alive and when he was old enough it just… never happened.

He met other mandalorians of course, warriors like his father but…

By the time Boba could swear it, Mandalore seemed like such a bitter concept with a duchess so sworn to her pacifist ideals that she’d stay out of an intergalactic war while departing the culture of Mandalore to the pale imitation of the Republic.

He sometimes wondered, how things would have been if a united Mandalore had been in shape, for either the CIS or the Republic.

Wondered how a united Mandalore would take to the clone armies.

He knew there were conflicted opinions about them, both on the New Mandalorians and the truer mandalorians side.

Not that it mattered.

Now it was just all a load of hypothetical with a glassed planet outside of the dome cities.

It was strange to think sometimes, that Boba, despite never really calling himself mandalorian, perhaps knew more of and experienced more of the culture than the foundlings and younglings of mandalorians now.

A strange and painful thought if he was honest.

Huffing out a breath, Boba pressed his lips to the feathered hair of Din’s head, focusing on the small twitches of the others body, indicating Din was waking slowly.

It took time, not surprising considering Din cried himself to sleep during a subdrop but finally, clinging to Boba, Din made a low noise and lifted his head enough to blink crusty eyes at the other. His cheek was lined from sleeping against Boba’s chest, his hair was a mess from Boba running his fingers through it and he looked like he’d rather be asleep again.

The two stared at each other before Boba reached out and gently ran his fingertips over Din’s cheek. “Mesh’la.” He whispered, smiling slightly at the flush that provoked. Din was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Din, reluctantly from the looks of it, sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes to remove the crust from it and then focused sleepily at him. “What happened?” He mumbled, blinking his large eyes slowly at him.

Sighing, Boba sat up, stretching enough to crack his back before focusing on Din again, lips pulling taunt. “We were both stupid, that’s what,” He grumbled, reaching out to stroke Din’s curly hair into a semblance of order when the other winced. “You went into a subdrop Din.”

Din blinked at him, leaning into the touch as Boba watched him closely.

From the looks of it, Din didn’t seem to be in a subdrop still but Boba would keep his eye on him.

More than that, Din just seemed confused. “Like… when you had a domdrop?” He questioned slowly, reminding Boba of his own.

“Same thing, yes, emotions, adrenaline and darker thoughts tangling up. But mine came from how you reacted to the spanking admittedly. Yours however came from a lack of communication.” Boba stated seriously, pulling Din into his side to cuddle him.

That had Din glancing to where their armors were settled, the shelves for the helmets and the stands for the rest. “Oh…” He licked his lips.

Boba hummed, pressing a kiss to a bare, tanned shoulder as he rubbed slowly at the other side. “Mmn, so, first of, if you _ever_ start feeling like you did yesterday, whatever we’re doing, be it pleasure, punishment or play, you _tell_ me. You give me a red, you karking _hit_ me if you have to,” He stated seriously, cupping Din’s chin to turn the other to face him. “You understand me?” Boba stated, voice demanding.

“But,” Din started, protesting with a small furrow between his brows.

“No,” Boba cut in, squeezing Din by the trim waist. “This is serious Din, subdrops aren’t healthy, they happen, yes but they can be migrated and even aborted. You had a major subdrop, you lost it and that’s on both you and me. Me for not making sure you knew that you could stop it all and not communicating properly with you and you for not speaking up,” He sighed against Din’s shoulder, rubbing slowly as he felt the tension of the others body. “…What was one of the first things I promised you Din, when we started this?” Boba questioned quietly.

Swallowing, shifting a bit, Din bit his lip before answering. “Safety. You… you promised me safety.” He answered dutifully.

Brushing his fingers over a large bruise on Din’s side, Boba hummed. “Yes. And that’s the most important thing. What happened yesterday _wasn’t_ safe. What would have happened if you continued? If I hadn’t heard you?” He peered at Din.

Din opened his mouth then closed it, his expression turning uncertain before mortified and then sad, clearly recognizing what Boba meant.

Boba nodded seriously. “You would have continued until you had a fit in front of the court. I know that you’re getting more used to it Din but… its clear you still need the separation of the armor from who you are out there without it.” A layer of safety for Din, to give him time to rediscover his footing and his mind now that he wasn’t sure of his creed.

And maybe also a physical protection if Boba was honest.

Sooner or later, Bo-Katan was going to come looking for Din, Boba knew that, especially since Din was stationary here even if he sometimes fleed off of into space on a hunt now and then or to visit Grogu at Skywalker’s little space.

As Princess, Bo-Katan wouldn’t look twice at Din.

Might have some unsavory words for Boba but he cared about her opinion as much as he did of bantha dung.

And Din needed more time.

Maybe one day, removing his helmet and kneeling at Boba’s feet in his armor would be a thing he could do but right now?

Din wasn’t ready and Boba had overstepped and practically trampled on Din’s boundaries. “For the future Din, promise me, if there’s something that upsets you, especially in regards to our relationship, _talk_ to me,” Boba begged practically. “Gedetir.” He wasn’t above actually begging.

It seemed to work as Din swayed into him, pressing his face to Boba’s shoulder. “Elek buir’ika,” He whispered, nuzzling slowly before pressing a kiss to a scarred section of Boba’s shoulder. “But… just so you know… it wasn’t being in front of everyone that made… well that happen.” He whispered against the skin.

Breathing out, pressing his hand to the back of the others neck, Boba paused at the confession

“Oh?” He whispered back, prodding for more.

Din hummed a bit, nuzzling slowly before nodding. “I… the lack of touch, warm skin contact. I felt… stuck in my own head in the dark. And you were wearing your gloves…” He trailed off.

Boba held his breath for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to Din’s temple. “Good, good boy Din, thank you for telling me, that’s… that’s prudent information.” His mind raced a bit before nuzzling Din slowly. “My sweetest Princess.” He murmured, chuckling at the warm flush he could feel in the others cheek against his skin.


	14. Rain

Today was an unusual day from the get go.

For one, it had _rained_.

Harsh, thundering desert rain but rain that could be drunk if it was collected in buckets and barrels, everyone putting out what they could to get water to store and use and drink.

Even a few of the more daredevil and reckless ones going as far as standing out in the rain and soaking it up.

The second unusual thing had been Fett himself, walking out without a smidgen of armor on, not even his helmet, dressed simply in his black robe and belt carrying his weapons.

The pillows Princess had left behind in the throne came in good use now, though Fett also used them with his armor on. But without any on, they were certainly a comfort by the way Fett sighed in relief after stuffing one of the bigger ones behind his back.

Court had proceeded as usual after that, not all that different except for the occasional drip of the rain coming down through cracks.

From the way Fett eyed the occasional wetness, it was clear he was making mental notes about getting it fixed as he traced the wetness to the roof above when not talking with someone.

The third unusual thing…

Was Princess himself.

When he finally emerged, a lot of people couldn’t contain their surprise.

Dressed in his usual sweet sheer getup, a nice lacy blue one this day that left so little to the imagination and yet kept the most important bits covered that was only for Fett, Princess was also dressed in _bruises_.

He walked gingerly over the stone floor, not his smooth roll of hips that many watched and lusted after and very carefully Princess slid himself into Fett’s waiting lap, sighing in relief as he settled his head on the other’s shoulder.

Fett smoothed his hand slowly over a thigh as he rolled his body a bit, making it easier for Princess to settle. He murmured quietly to the other, glancing at him before settling at a positive reply, his hand still on the tanned thigh in a comforting, petting motion as court finally began with everything from completed missions, petitioners and off-worlders seeking anything from alliance to work.

Now Fett’s state of dress made more sense to the regulars of the court.

It had become more and more apparent that Fett adored Princess, to some it even appeared the crime king potentially loved him as fantastical as the idea sounded, so seeing to his comfort in his own fortress by shedding his armor was not beyond Fett.

But it left many to speculate.

Someone had already died for harming Princess.

No one had died now, at least not yet and Fett would have made a public execution of it, as a warning and a threat to everyone what would happen if you crossed him.

And Princess was a _mess_ of yellowing and black bruises and looking long enough, one could even spot a bacta patch on the back of one calf.

Had this happened while he was traveling, to see his son?

Was Princess son a slave potentially and the master of the son hurt him?

Both of those floated around a while, the latter dismissed almost as soon as it was suggested, Fett adored Princess, would grant him expensive outfits, sweets, toys and anything the man desired and allow him actions no one else could get away with and nothing would have stopped him from making Princess happy at this point.

Including either rescuing or buying his son if so and with the time it took to travel, there was no way the son was on Tatooine.

Another, cautious rumor began after those.

Djarin had just been punished after all, had been kneeling in place of the King’s favorite whore for an entire day with the King’s hand on his neck.

Was he the one to beat the throne warmer?

While Princess was adored for sure, Djarin was a favorite too in Fett’s eyes, everyone was aware that both Djarin and Shand were his right and left hands and both of them were also granted favors that others would not get.

No one as much as Princess of course, but maybe enough that Djarin could survive being violent towards Princess with a humiliating punishment?

Now that it was loose, more speculation came.

No one had ever seen Princess and the hunter in the same room at the same time, they always seemed to either miss each other or not be required at the same time, one being in the bedroom and the other being on a hunt from time to time when the other was in the throne room.

Maybe that was on purpose by Fett, that he knew the dislike that least one of them had towards the other.

Potentially both of them hated each other.

More than one person had speculated on the nature of Djarin and Fett’s relationship, the mandalorian practically a dog on a leash for Fett as much as Princess on the literal leash with a collar.

The idea had merit and once brought up, circulated with more and more conviction.

And Djarin would be more than capable to leave Princess in such a state with little injury or risk to himself in his beskar armor, even injured as he was when he returned and despite Princess well capable hands at violence, the armor would be major protection, coupled with the battle experience of the mandalorian.

Fett dismisses one of the merchants that set up stalls and homes in the new town around the palace, their tax payment taken away by a twi’lek with shrewd eyes to put into the treasury but that’s not as interesting as the sight of a shifting and grimacing Princess, the tanned man gripping the front of Fett’s robe.

The King takes that moment to pause, gently rubbing at Princess thigh. “Maybe you should go back to bed.” Fett questioned but it came out as a statement more than anything, voice low as he eyed the other thoughtfully. “Lay down and rest.” The man stated and as used to him being obeyed as the court was, the answer took them of guard.

Princess grimaced again before shaking his head against Fett’s shoulder. “No. I want to stay.” He stated, voice a tad raspier than usual but firm.

Not that many took much note of that however, frozen from the ‘no.’

Princess had been confused, sad, hesitant even violent but he had never said _no_ before. Not to Fett, a man used to being obeyed and swift in dealing with those who didn’t in his palace and on _his_ planet and many shifted nervously, wondering if they were about to witness more bruises be added to Princess already damaged body.

However, Fett simply huffed, as if he expected the answer before reaching into his belt pouch and pulling out something. “At the very least you need something to dull the pain, alright?” He stated seriously, staring at the other man as he held up a vial with something shimmery blue in it.

Princess eyed the vial before sighing and nodding, reluctantly sitting up a bit and opening his mouth ever so slightly.

Satisfied seemingly, Fett popped the cork of the vial and tipped the bottle against his index finger, a thin sheen on it when he removed the bottle. With care, he slowly rubbed the shimmery powder on the inside of Princess bottom lip.

That done, he stowed away the bottle and wiped his finger on his own thigh, watching with a slightly amused air as Princess ran his tongue along the inside of his lip and grimaced heavily. The gaze softened however as Princess visibly started relaxing and flopped against the other man, Fett’s arm coming up around him in a careful circle. “There we go Princess, we’ll have something to eat in an hour or so.” He murmured, voice sweetly promising.

Princess hummed at that, nuzzling into Fett’s shoulder, eyes half closed. “Elek buir’ika.” He mumbled, voice low, barely heard over the music with an airy note to it that indicated despite the low dose, he was properly drugged up.

All in all, it had been a very strange and very long day by the time the palace emptied out of those that did not belong there during the night, everyone hoping things would be returning to normal over the next day.

Well, there was one last strange thing.

Though among all the other things, it seemed almost inconsequential to those that left for the night.

Just a tiny thing among every other detail but just enough for a few to see and remember as different from the norm.

Fett had not been wearing his gloves throughout the day.

Strange things in a strange court.


	15. The first day, the early days

People had long ago gotten used to Princess in the court, the way he swished around in his pretty outfits with the smooth gait of a predator despite being dressed in lace and silk, confidant as he left Fett’s side if always slightly saddened in a way others couldn’t put words to.

Considering they had seen him murder someone with a serving tray of all things, no one doubted the predator in him.

However many of the court also remembered the early days of the court, the first few weeks after the slaves were liberated and Princess had become part of the daily life. The skittishness, hesitance and sadness in large brown eyes as he clung tightly to Fett’s side every time he was in public, the slump of his shoulders and the way he sought comfort from the scarred King.

The day had begun normal enough, though a few had noted that Fett had a pillow resting on the floor between the his feet. It had been dismissed, ignored as a stray item no one had bothered to pick up despite looking quite expensive with the clear indication of the pillow being both large and properly stuffed. There were a few items like that around the palace that people paid little mind to but had been the first sign that something was going to be different today.

Another sign was Shand, the way she would sometimes pause on the arm of Fett’s throne, glancing around.

A few had speculated that she was missing the bounty hunter that was always leaning on the throne too, many thinking the man was of on one of his hunts that Fett sent him of on.

Fett had just dismissed a New Republic liaison and set his helmet on the empty arm when it happened.

“Buir’ika?” A low and somewhat unfamiliar voice interrupted the normal sounds of the court, several people eyes going to the door they knew lead to Fett’s private quarters.

It was open, a naturally darker hand gently curled on the doorway as a brown haired man peered around the corner, brown eyes wide as he peeked out nervously, sucking on a thin bottom lip.

He was a pretty thing, that was for sure despite the clear nerves he was having, the brown hair curling lightly around his ears, a thin groomed mustache on his lips with his large eyes being expressive over a hooked nose.

“Ah, Princess, there you are,” Fett smiled slightly to many’s surprise, sitting up in his throne before holding out his hand. “Come here sweetheart.” He ordered, patient as the other man shuffled a bit in the doorway before he finally slipped out, giving everyone their first proper look at him.

Tall and tanned with muscles all in the right spots, which coupled with the scars told about a fighter throughout life, wearing a silver collar with a ring in it that a few recognized as beskar from Djarin walking around, bare feet padding lightly on the floor.

But more notable than any of that was his state of dress, a soft peach pink babydoll that was thigh length and somewhat sheer, enough to see that the man was wearing a pretty lacy thing underneath even if they couldn’t see it clearly through the babydoll.

A pleasure slave.

But… Fett had dismantled the slavery trade.

Yet he was keeping one himself?

He had killed people for less offenses.

A few muttered among each other at the hypocrisy of it, watching closely.

This Princess gave an uncertain glance towards the people in the room before slowly but smoothly making his way to Fett, grasping the gloved hand.

Instantly Fett pulled him around the throne and guided him down between the sprawl of his legs, right onto the puffy red pillow everyone had noted earlier and been confused about. Princess shifted a bit around before settling down on his rear with his feet tucked out to the side on the inside of Fett’s foot, holding onto Fett’s hand tightly by the look of his whitened knuckles.

The grip eased though, when Fett ran his other hand over the man’s feathery hair, murmuring something in mandalorian before guiding the others head until it rested against his thigh. Slowly, Princess let go of the man’s hand and instead wrapped his arms around the man’s other leg, rubbing his cheek to the thigh with a low noise. “Better?” Fett rumbled, eyes tracking the others movement.

A hum escaped Princess, the man smiling shyly up at Fett. “’Lek buir’ika.”

Fett patted at the dark hair again, teasing a few of the curls as he settled back against the throne. “Jate, just stay there for now.” He murmured, his hand still settled in the others hair.

The man was obviously mandalorian, seeing as he spoke it as a second nature but the name princess…

It was obviously not a title and not a real name, but maybe a nickname to go between the two, as if Princess’s real name didn’t matter and maybe in the space between Fett’s thighs, it didn’t?

It was still strange.

The court took days to adjust to the presence of Princess and Princess himself spooked easily, turned skittish if stared at too long.

But every time it looked like he was on the verge of fleeing, Fett would do something and it would relax the man.

Never something as crude as drugs, no, Fett’s actions were simple things that seemed to sooth more than it made Princess compliant as drugs would.

A gentle ungloved hand stroking through hair or over the nape, a low question in mandalorian, the offer of something to eat or drink or even carefully drawing the other up into his lap.

All of it served to relax Princess every time his muscles tensed up.

Especially the latter one, as Princess took full advantage of being in Fett’s lap to hide in the man’s neck.

Almost delicately, depending on the position Princess had as sitting across or straddling the lap, Fett would run his bare hand over the others smooth looking thighs or gingerly around the ankle.

A steady form for touch, a comfort for the slave that sometimes, despite how skittish he seemed, would disappear under the skirt of Fett’s clothes to pleasure him.

The speculations were ripe.

Everything from a fallen noble of the old mandalorian clans to a disgraced warrior turned slave turned Fett’s pleasure toy.

A completely fantastical one even suggested it was the bounty hunter but the person who suggested that was laughed so hard out of court he didn’t come back until a month later when the hubbub of the court had settled with the new addition of Fett’s pleasure toy.

After all, they had seen the ferocity of Djarin, the idea of him kneeling at Fett’s feet, skittish like a feral tooka like Princess was the height of hilarity to many. Even if they had no idea how Djarin looked under the helmet, many doubted it could possible be the competent hunter when Princess was so easily spooked by simple if long looks.

As far as his apparent hypocrisy went, it was a pretty addition at the very least and once Princess wasn’t so skittish, he did wander around on new sandals Fett had clearly gotten him despite the thin beskar chain sometimes hooked to the ring of his collar.

So not a broken slave at least but maybe one that needed the dependency?

Fett did not seem to need Princess, despite his looks, many would go to bed with him for the power, so it wasn’t co-dependency.

But maybe it was pity for a very pretty little thing when he had been so skittish and clung to Fett so hard in the first few weeks and months. Maybe someone had broken in Princess before the slavery on Tatooine was shut down or maybe Fett himself had but it was clear he didn’t want to be far from the man, he wouldn’t be the first slave struggling to find their path after being freed.

And many of those came to Fett’s palace where they found purpose, maybe this pretty little toy had also come to Fett’s palace.

Well, the little thing was pushing it, Princess was taller than Fett, but pretty for sure despite the white lines of scars on his body from whatever had injured him in the past. And even prettier for the outfits that bought out the glow of his skin and the color of his eyes.

As far as hypocrisy went, maybe this one could be tolerated at the very least.


	16. Nightmare

The coldness of the ocean burned him as it found every gap and opening of his armor, his kute unable to keep out the amount as the salt gagged him and his rushing of the ocean covered his own cries.

But not the cries of his kid.

Of Grogu.

Grogu is gone, the Jedi has him and Din is drowning in the icy cold ocean of Trask without a friendly soul in sight.

Din had to get out but every time he got up, every time he reached for the metal bars above him he was showed back down into the water, to choke on more water as someone laughed and laughed and leered about his beskar.

His lungs hurt and his body felt heavy but more than that, behind the dark shadows above pushing him back down every time he made progress in getting out of the water was the sight of Boba that caught his attention.

Boba was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, face indifferent to Din’s suffering and Din felt the need to scream as he tried to reach for the man, trying to call for him despite the water filling his lungs, burning his limbs in their coldness.

Boba cocked his head at him, a considering tilt to his helmet before he simply turned, his jetpack firing up, simply disappearing into the sky.

Boba leaves him and Din cries out for his buir’ika, feeling like he’s about to shatter as he’s left behind _again_ and Din can’t take it, he’s going t-”DIN!” A voice roars, arms around him as he’s brought out of the water shockingly, flailing in the grip before jerking away as best he can and throwing up.

For a moment, he’s so out of it that he can’t make heads or tail of anything, gasping and shuddering as he’s caught between reality and fantasy.

But slowly, as his breathing mellows down, the world comes into focus with Boba’s frantic whispering in his ear and the warm arms keeping him against Boba’s chest, the others hands on his chest.

He is not in the water and he’s not on Trask, Trask is far behind him, months and months by now and Trask was before he had ever meet Boba or been held by him or called him buir’ika.

Din is on Tatooine, he’s in the King’s suite of the palace, Boba’s palace in their warm bed. It must be around early morning, some slight light already making its way between the gaps of the curtain of the window and its enough to let Din see that he’s vomited onto the floor.

At least that’s some good news, vomiting in bed is never pleasant and is a whole more of a process to clean up.

Then there is the idea of throwing up on Boba…

Well, that would be humiliating, Din has done it once before already but he’d rather not repeat it, regardless how kind Boba had been during the entire stomach bug episode.

As he’s no longer struggling, Boba eases up his grip but only slightly, enough to ease one hand up to touch Din’s sweaty face, the scarred face popping into view in the half light. “Are you with me now sweetheart?” He questioned quietly, brows furrowed.

Swallowing thickly, Din nodded. “Yes, sorry.” He managed to croak, groaning faintly as Boba slowly shifted them, clearly intent on sitting up.

It was the last thing Din wanted but he still shifted with Boba until they were sitting against the headboard, Din’s back still to Boba’s chest. The lamp on Boba’s side is turned on, Din blinking blearily at the sharper light and by the time his eyes adjust, Boba is holding the canteen he keeps on his bedside for Din to take.

Taking it, Din swishes his mouth with water and swallows, the taste of bile disappearing before drinking more of the chilled water. He dazedly wonders why its cold before his brain reminds him that Boba invested in a fancy canteen that keeps the content chilled down, a wry smirk on the other man’s scarred face when he told Din he liked to drink cold water in the heat.

His shaky thoughts are cut off as the other speaks up. “You were having a nightmare.” Boba’s chest rumbles against Din’s back as the thicker man murmurs and Din sinks more into the others chest at the reminder, swallowing thickly before taking in more water.

He nods but says nothing, replaying the nightmare in his head. It makes him shudder, his heart rabbiting as he remembers how indifferent Boba had looked in the nightmare.

He had _never_ looked at Din like that.

Not even when they first meet.

Boba shifts behind him, his hands shifting to cup Din’s stomach instead, rubbing slowly, likely feeling how hard Din’s heart his beating. It worries him and a part of Din, still anxious from the dream, eases slightly. “Din, plea-”

“You left me,” Din whispered, the words cutting off Boba. “I… I was drowning and… and you left me.” He swallows thickly before turning around, holding the canteen tightly as he presses his face into Boba’s neck.

The warm body goes unnaturally still for a moment before Boba’s arms practically crushes Din to his chest. “You listen to me and you listen well, Din Djarin,” Boba whispered, voice fierce and low and Din has spent months listening and obeying that voice. He’s helpless to do anything but listen. “You are mine and I am _never_ letting you go. They’ll have to pry you away from me,” His voice is almost vicious and then it soften, Boba’s scarred hand slowly stroking over the back of Din’s head, down his nape and settling on his upper back. “I love you too much to let you go now.” He confessed brokenly.

It should scare him, incense him, the idea of being kept and chained, of Boba’s vicious voice telling him he won’t let Din go but Din is also the King of Tatooine’s Princess. Boba’s chains are not the chains of slavery and Boba lets him fly when he wants to. Din leaves on bounties when his restlessness gets the better of him.

Boba’s words aren’t those of enslavement and servitude.

They’re promises of Din always having somewhere to go, of Boba’s love, of a safe place to put his head down.

The promise in those words makes Din sniffle a bit against the warm skin of Boba’s neck, still clutching the canteen as he swallows thickly in an attempt to stem the slow tears.

When he still says nothing, Boba shakes him slightly with his arms still around Din. “Do you understand me Din? I’m not letting you go. I’ll follow you anywhere if you leave me.” He whispered against Din’s temple, lips brushing gently against the skin that’s rapidly cooling with cold sweat now.

Manda, something must be wrong with Din but that promise soothes him, the realization that Boba won’t let him go.

Hiccuping a bit, Din nodded. “I-I get it. I get it Boba. I love you too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He resisted the urge to whimper and simply let Boba arrange him into his body, feeling the canteen being plucked out of his clutching hands.

It gone, Din clutches Boba’s thin sleep shirt instead, hiccuping as he cries quietly into the older man’s neck.

Din has a place, his place is here and Boba won’t leave him.

Din won’t be left alone again.


	17. A box delivered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, a finger is severed in this chapter. Be cautious while reading if this may be triggering.

Grumbling faintly to himself as he set his helmet on the arm, Boba tilted his head to look up at Fennec as the zabrak hurried out of his sight, having reported from town about the build. “You know where Din went?” He questioned, voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry.

Din preferred to keep his name out of the court as Princess, to avoid Bo-Katan’s attention when she finally arrived and the separation from bared face to armor was still a threshold the other hadn’t quite managed to get comfortable, not yet.

That time would come but not yet.

Fennec shrugged, comfortably settled on the arm of Boba’s throne. “Think he went down to look at some of the weaponry. You know how he gets.” She smirked a tad and Boba sighed to himself.

Seemed he’d have to find Din a job soon if he was getting antsy.

To be fair, it had been a month since Din’s last job, the other had been doing good with just sparring and training. Since his nightmare, Din had been slightly clingy, not that Boba had been much better.

It was nice to have Din in his arms, sleeping, safe and sound and clingy and kissy.

Boba liked affection, sue him!

There was a small throat being cleared and Boba looked away from his friend and enforcer, his brows jumping in surprise to find one of the younglings from the town standing in front of his dais, the boy looking nervous as he clung to a gray, duracrete box.

He looked like one of the market boys if Boba was right, wearing roughspun but proper clothes, a dark sun tanned skin and wide, hazel eyes as he peered up at Boba from under a mop of curls that almost reminded Boba of his lover. “I-I’m sorry for disturbing sir, but I was paid t-to deliver this to you.” The boy stammered out, his voice cracking from spot to spot in clear evidence of puberty.

“A delivery?” Boba repeated slowly, his eyes falling back to the box the boy was clinging to. “Paid? By who lad.”

The boy shuffled his booted feet on the sand, sucking on his bottom lip. “Um, I don’t really know. They were strangers, I’d never seen them before but they paid me a handful of of peggat to deliver this box to the King of Tatooine, giving it directly to you and you alone sir.” He swallowed thickly, shaking a bit from nerves.

Clearly, this had not been the boys idea and now he looked like he regretted accepting the deal.

If he was honest, the box could be anything, a bomb even but Boba didn’t think so.

Raising his brow, Boba glanced back up at Fennec, the sharpshooter looking as confused as him before he looked back to the nervous boy. “Well, lets see what these people wanted me to have then.” Boba held out his hand, gesturing for the lad to step closer.

The boy, teen really, stepped forward and gingerly handed over the box before quickly stepping back, stopping reluctantly when Boba held up a hand for him to wait. Depending on the contents of the box, Boba would have more questions for the boy about the ones who asked for him to deliver it to the King of Tatooine.

It was light, for some reason Boba had expected more heft to it, it looked quite large after all.

An uneasy feeling rose in Boba’s chest as he settled the box on his lap, staring down at the gray duracrete box.

He didn’t want to open it and clearly Fennec recognized that as she settled her hand on his shoulder. “Boba?” She whispered quietly.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” Boba rumbled. He’d gotten used to listening to his instincts, especially during his hunts when he was still a bounty hunter and his instincts were wailing at that moment.

Still he released the latches on the box, pulling it off in a smooth move.

His heart leapt to his throat, his hands clenched on the lid and he heard Fennec take a snapping breath of air as his head buzzed in a convoluted mix of dangerous emotions.

The most prominent was fear and raw fury.

Because in the box, was a soft, silky length of white cloth, stained with darkening blood as it is drying into the fabric.

R esting on top of the silky outfit, the outfit Din had been wearing earlier  and Boba had marveled at how it made Din’s tanned skin glow ,  lays Din’s beskar collar with a s evered tanned finger  resting in the middle of silver and white .

Several court members dropped under the tables as Boba crushed the duracrete lid with his hands, the boy squeaked loudly and trembled as Boba rose with the box held in his hand, duracrete falling off his lap from the broken lid. “Tell me _everything_ about the ones who sent you here.” Boba hissed, his voice quiet but all the more frightening for it.

An angry, raving monarch was one thing, something to be soothed. An icy cold and calculative furious one could massacre a planet.

More than one person almost pissed themselves in fear as they stared with wide eyes as the King plucked a familiar beskar collar out of the box, several people squeaking in horror as realization set in about what had pissed Boba Fett of.

“Tell me who took my Princess?!”

()()()

Squinting slightly at the cell door with the dim light provided from the window over his head, Din wondered how long it would take until his left eye was too swollen to see anything.

If experience told him anything, maybe another hour.

If he remained awake long enough that was.

As it was, stripped of all his clothes, sheer as they were, his arms restrained over his head, with a gag tied cruelly around his head as he sat on the floor of the warm cell he was being kept in, he wasn’t sure he would remain awake much longer.

The damn cell was like a sweat box and his body throbbed with pain every time he shifted, sweat gathering on his skin and dripping into open sores on his body. His legs ached from being kept up towards his chest but Din didn’t quite dare lower them since the devaronian kept watching him with lidded, interested eyes.

He didn’t want to give the mutt more to look at, regardless how his legs ached or how much pressing his legs together generated more heat.

K nowing Tatooine  though , he knew, come nightfall, everything would grow almost icy cold, leaving Din to freeze,  so he better enjoy the warmth while he could, even if it left him feeling dehydrated, his lips chaffing around the cloth in his mouth.

Well, enjoy it as long as he was left alone , Din didn’t like the way some of his abductors were looking at him, some of them obviously leering at him with lust as they looked him over, while others were angry over the comrades they had lost when Din was ambushed.

Din didn’t go down easy, still battle hardened as he was and apparently this group, idiots as they were, didn’t expect him to have a vibroblade tucked on him in the sheer folds of his outfit.

Hopefully, that meant that Boba could find evidence of the shuffle and start gathering clues.

His left hand throbbed with pain, reminding Din that these assholes had removed one of his fingers, as a ‘message’ to the King.

It was meant as a point, that they were quite willing to harm Din and he had seen it in action before. A threat display.

Never in a million years had he thought he’d be exposed to it himself though and he could only hope that infection wouldn’t set in, though he could tell a few of the other sores on his body was showing signs of infection.

He wasn’t sure what they were wanted from his buir’ika but Din hoped to hell that Boba wouldn’t give them it as he shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable, grimacing as the hunter felt sand itching up his ass crack.

Din wanted to go home.

He wanted to crawl into the large tub in the King’s suite, sit in Boba’s lap, have his hair washed and then snuggle up into their bed, wrapped up in his lover’s arms.

Din wanted to be safe with his buir’ika.

As he heard a commotion from the front of whatever place they were keeping him, Din sent of a prayer to manda and the ka’ra that Boba would find him and find him soon.

He’d rather keep the rest of his body parts.


	18. Watch you scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another dismembered finger in this one, none graphic but there

Another day, another finger.

Boba stared into the box, his shoulders twitching as he stared at the still bleeding stump.

The first one had been Din’s pinkie from one hand, this was the ring finger and by the little scar he could spot on the top of the knuckle, it would be Din’s left ring finger.

He’d already put the first one in stasis, he’d be placing this one too into stasis but he wasn’t sure the medic would be able to reattach them once Boba got Din back.

It would depend on the cut of the nerves and on Din’s finger stumps as far as Boba knew, how the flesh and nerves had fared.

Not that Boba would spare any expense to help Din, at the very least he’d get the other the prosthetics he’d need.

But… staring at the finger, a swamping helplessness and hopelessness echoed through Boba.

He hadn’t felt like that in a long, very long time.

He had no information to go on, had no idea who had taken Din.

The only information the boy had been able to give him was that a weequay woman and a skinny for a gamorran male had been the ones to give him the box, the weequay being the one that spoke the most. Both had been wearing armor and spacer leathers, decked out with blasters and the weequay had long braids and golden piercings in her nose.

Tatooine was full of both gamorran’s and weequay’s, all of them, beyond the nose piercings, could fit the boy’s description.

Boba didn’t know what to _do,_ he felt helpless, sitting in his seat of power, waiting for information from his scouts and the agents Fennec had personally trained, a reward for information about Din already released over Tatooine.

But the wait was excruciating, especially with the addition of a new delivery with the demands of ransom.

A planet’s ransom at that, demands of riches and a large ship on the list of the pad that came with the finger and Boba wondered if these kidnappers knew Din’s identity or if they had figured out that Boba loved Din and would give his soul to have him back.

There was a commotion up the stairs leading down to the throne room and Boba raised his head from the box to look at the bottom of it, his face the picture of stone as he waited.

At his side, he felt Fennec steady presence and it was a relief.

He felt like a strong breeze could knock him over at that moment and wasn’t sure he was up to handle another situation at this moment when his mind was occupied thinking of Din.

Of Din in a dirty cell, Din captured and hurting, Din naked in the hands of someone that had no issue harming him, Din naturally wide, soulful eyes and expressive face without his helmet.

Just of Din.

His Din, who was hurting somewhere on Tatooine, taken from Boba’s palace, the one place in the entire galaxy the other man was suppose to be safe.

When he got Din back, he was going to make _sure_ the other was safe, he was going to post double guards in every hall, patrols that walked every half hour and deck Din out with his collar tasering anyone that touched him that wasn’t keyed in.

Finally, one of the guards came tumbling down and came to a rest at the bottom of the stairs as another man, tall with greying hair ruffled from the shuffle stepped down quickly, his face the picture of determination.

Absently, Boba noted he could be taken as handsome and for some reason, he felt a bit familiar.

Considering the red scarf, the man stuck out a bit, wearing slightly mismatched and worn armor that at least provided protection along with well maintained blasters on his belt.

Fennec ideally fiddled with the blaster on her belt as the man approached the dais, several courtiers watching nervously as Boba’s behavior these last two days had everyone on edge due to the unpredictability of it.

None of them knew how to act with Din taken and who might be the target of Boba’s ire when it finally exploded.

‘Huh, hazel eyes’ Boba noted absently as he took in the faux confidant posture of the man as he stopped in front of Boba, looking up at him with squared shoulders and a jutted out chin. His armor and clothes carried the signs of travel dust, his hair was clearly messy and even from a distance, Boba could smell sweat.

The signs of someone that had traveled and traveled hard to get to their destination.

“You’re looking for… Princess, right?” The man stated, voice rushed but steady before Boba could or Fennec could make an inquiry to the visit and Boba sat up a bit, a sudden, helpless hope fluttering in his chest.

The whole of Tatooine knew better than to mess with Boba Fett, so someone coming here, directly asking for Din when he was abducted…

He nodded, watching the man closely.

“I’m Cobb Vanth, we’re friends, we talk occasionally over comms,” The man introduced himself and right, Boba recognized the man now. The man that had his armor before, the marshal of Freedom town that Din had brokered peace with the local tuskens. “Four days ago, I noticed a group setting up shop not too far from the town, I kept an eye on them though they didn’t seem harmful and they didn’t approach the town, especially when they took note of the tuskens around despite clearly being armed.” Cobb explained.

A new group, unfamiliar but armed… Boba nodded for the other to continue, knowing his muteness was unusual but the hope in his chest making it difficult for him to talk.

“Last night, they arrived back with less than there were before and one of the scouts reported… they saw D-Princess.” Cobb continued, licking his chapped lips.

Someone had seen Din.

Boba was willing to ignore the almost use of Din's name as he stood, the box held tightly. “Where?” He growled out.

“They’re hiding in the abandoned mining caves by my town, in the mines and shacks around it,” Cobb announced, thumbs tucked into his belt, his shoulders shaking slightly. “But they’re too many for me to take on my own and I didn’t want to get Princess hurt. He’s a good friend, did me a good favor even if he wanted something from me at the time. His favor was worth more than what he wanted.” Cobb stepped back, clearly wanting to rush out already before pausing, looking at Boba.

Looking down, Boba let out a deep, echoing snarl before he turned to Fennec, seeing an echoing need for violence in her cold eyes. “Get your _best_ gathered, we leave in twenty. No less.” He stated calmly.

The sharpshooter smiled coldly in return.

It was time to get Din back.

()()()

The commotion had been this ragtag group’s leader arriving.

Apparently this entire group was a pirate band, one that had lost their ship from what little Din had been conscious enough to understood before he slipped under that first night, blissfully not being awake for the cold of the night.

No one had bothered to throw a blanket on him or over him, so Din’s muscles were stiff from the position he slept in.

He woke to new pain in the morning as a gamorran removed another of his fingers, his hand throbbing with pain as he hissed and twitched, kicking out and breaking the pig’s knee.

Someone had laughed at that as the gamorran squealed with pain until beady eyes focused on Din as the mandalorian nursed his aching foot and the gamorran had kicked out in return.

Din had felt something in his own knee twist and was sure that at the very least, something was fractured.

Before he could do more damage, the laughing captain of the group came over and shoved him away, telling them to send the finger off to ‘Fett’, the weequay leering at Din as she knelt down and cupped his chin, smirking as Din panted heavily from the pain while staring back at her.

He absently took notice of the piercings in her nose, two tiny hoops.

“You should behave pretty thing, we’d actually rather not damage you too much, lest Fett decides not to pay your full price,” She crooned almost gently, stroking Din’s chin as his right leg flopped uselessly against the sand of his cell.

His left leg was still pulled up as he slowly managed to get his breath back, providing him some covering.

Din peered at the leader for a long minute with his working eye, blinking slowly as the woman still leered at him while holding his chin. Then he laughed, slowly, rusty and grating but clearly a laugh as he let his head drop back from her touch to rest against the wall.

On the outside of the cell, a few of her crew were trading looks, wondering if the bed slave had broken at the words only for their attention to snap back when Din spoke. “When Boba finds you, he won’t have any mercy for any of you,” Din smiled through bloody teeth, his lips cracking from the dehydration. “He’ll cut your tendons and throw you to the sarlacc he once escaped and I’ll watch it happen, at his side or from the afterlife,” Din leaned his head forward a bit, until he was looking the weequay square in the eyes. “And I’ll _laugh_ , as your screams cut short.” He chuckled.

Clearly unnerved, the captain let out a little oath before lashing out, striking Din across the face to cut his laugh short.

Mouth throbbing, Din spat at the sand, numbly blinking at the blood in his saliva before he just quietly rolled his head back and dropped it to the wall behind him, smiling at the pirate crew with bloody lips.

Boba was going to destroy them for this.


	19. Bo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning here, no dismemberment, only canon typical violence mention

There is a panicked voice echoing faintly, screams of pain and yet Din can’t quite bring himself to open his eye.

He feels so tired and sometimes the pirates get into arguments among themselves.

They’re not a well oiled crew, that’s for sure.

Just like Ranzer’s old crew when Din worked with them.

Assholes the whole lot and so are these pirates and a vicious part of Din hopes one of them kills the other, regardless who has started the fight. A bigger part of him just wants to sleep as his body throbs with pain.

In his dreams, he’s with Boba, curled together in their bed as Boba strokes Din hair and whispers soft nothings, Din’s own hands tracing the scars on Boba’s body with tender reverence.

In his dreams, he’s home.

He’s actually a bit annoyed as he hears a fleshy thump, someone hitting the wall if he was to take a guess and a male voice pleading before there’s a fleshy thump and the sound of boots pretty much running in his direction.

Din lets out a soft noise, flinching weakly at the clang of his cell door as he forces his eye open to look, wondering weakly if its one of the pirates coming to take another finger and he can’t lose himself to his dreams if that’s what’s happening.

Instead of a leering pirate or the karking demagolka captain, he’s meet with black and green as _Boba_ drops to his knees in front of Din, throwing his helmet off his head so Din can see his scarred face and wide eyes. “Din’ika.” The man whispered shakily, reaching out to cup his face.

Letting out a low, sobbing noise of relief through cracked lips, Din leaned into the gloved hands, wishing they were bare.

Faintly he also took notice of the slight sheen of blood on Boba’s cuirass and the part of him that had been raised a warrior that he could never quite put aside, snarled in vicious satisfaction, realizing that Boba had come in guns blazing.

Boba had come for him. “Bo-” He rasped out, his voice cracking on the others name as he wheezed, his throat struggling to swallow as Boba pressed their foreheads together for just a moment with a soft murmur. Then the other leaned back, calling over his shoulder.

“Don’t talk sweetheart, let your voice rest. Russal! Get here or I swe-” What Boba was swearing was never verbalized as a young, slightly spooked looking zabrak suddenly materialized, carrying a heavy looking bag as nervous eyes looked at Din.

They widened even more and Din wondered what kind of condition he was in for the zabrak to look like that. ‘He’s kinda pretty, all yellow and black…’ Din noted faintly as the horned male settled down on the sandy ground.

He started digging through the bag, bringing out hypos and bandages and oh, this must be the medic Boba had been talking about getting on staff for them personally. For the palace alone and in particular because Din had his nasty habit of cauterizing things.

Well, that made sense.

Wait, the two were talking, Din tried to focus on what they were saying. “ -nd you need to lower his arms sir, the blood flow to them must be horrible if he’s been kept here the entire time, I’ll do what I can but the rest has to be done in the medbay of the ship we took here.” Russal spoke quickly, a slight lisp to his words.

Must be the somewhat too long canines in his mouth doing that and Din realized that his mind wasn’t tracking properly what was going on.

If it was, he would be focusing on what was going on and not random things like the fangs of the medic.

Boba’s hands closed around his arms, fiddling with the rope tying them above his head and Din whimpered quietly as he felt the brush against his finger stumps. “Shh I know Din’ika, I know sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.” Boba whispered, Din giving a small cry when his sore arms were being lowered.

Hands, unfamiliar and colder than Boba, touched his shoulder and Din flinched away from them and towards his lover, feeling the arms of the other come up around him. “Shh, shh love, let Russal work on you. I know it must hurt but let him do his job.” Boba whispered, keeping an arm around him as he bit at the fingertips of his other glove, pulling it off.

The warm hand brushing his face had Din settling slightly, nuzzling into the hand as Russal continued prodding at injuries, Din hissing when he felt a hypo being set into the meat of his shoulder.

But Boba was there, his fingers running through his hair and into the back of his head and a distant part of his mind recognized that Boba was looking for injuries with the way he was prodding at his head.

Found the mudhorn egg too on the back of his head.

The pain was receding though, Din let out a low noise as he took in that the pain was not quite disappearing but it wasn’t as sharp. The pinch of the hypo must have been some form for painkiller and Din let out a soft noise as he rested his head on Boba’s pauldron.

“There we are… just… just relax sweetheart, ner mesh’la.” Boba whispered, voice shaking slightly as he cupped the back of Din’s head, pressing his lips to Din’s forehead.

Odd, his lips almost felt chilled and after several long minutes, between hissing with pain each time Russal touched or cleaned something, Din realized that he must be feverish, his own skin burning and therefore Boba’s normally so warm lips felt cool.

“Sir? I need you to hold him. I’m gonna have to brace his leg, I can’t quite tell if its broken or twisted but I don’t like the idea of moving him without bracing it at least.” The murmur went over Din’s head but the tightening of Boba’s arms around him did not.

It made him whine quietly, only to be hushed by Boba.

There was a shift, cool hands touching below and above Din’s right knee and he only had a moment to tense up when it was suddenly straightened and pulled.

Din _screamed_ with pain and that was the last he knew as his eyes rolled up into his head.

()()()

Boba let out a vicious curse as Din went lax in his arms, burning eyes jumping to the medic even as Russal ignored him, quickly wrapping Din’s knee up in white gauze. He flinched when he caught Boba’s eyes though. “I-I’m sorry sir,  but we really couldn’t move him without giving his  knee support.” He squeaked out, shaking slightly.

Breathing out, Boba nodded as he continued cuddling Din’s unconscious body, glancing back to find Fennec still keeping the captain on her knees with the blaster in the weequay’s back. The woman was snarling but there wasn’t much she could do after having been subdued by Shand and her personally trained guards.

Boba felt the urge to go over and do… something, anything towards the woman but Din took priority.

Finding his love half conscious and so dehydrated he could barely talk in the little cell, face flushed with fever from infection and yet his skin clammy pale from his own pain, Boba had felt sick to the heart and there was no way he could leave the others side when Din looked at him with his one good eye, the relief and love at seeing Boba overwhelming.

While Fennec was busy, another was more free to move, Cobb coming over with his eyes flashing nervously to Boba and then down to Din’s face, a thin stream of blood coming from the left temple, Cobb having hit the wall at some point during their surge into the buildig. “Did… is he going to be alright?” The marshal questioned, hand tight on his blaster as he stared down at them.

Swallowing thickly, Boba nodded slowly even as he wanted to voice his appreciation for Cobb helping them. “I’ll make sure that physically, he’ll be fine.”

Cobb paused a bit, catching the wording with a grimace.

But he nodded slowly, recognizing that Boba couldn’t answer for Din’s mental state after these three days of pain and hurt Din had gone through, helpless and at the hands of thugs. And Din had barely been tracking anything other than the pain he was in and Boba’s touch.

He didn’t _know_ if the other’s mental state would heal as well.

He could only hope.

“There,” Both men focused on the medic, the young man flinching at the attention even as he squared his shoulders. “The patient can be moved now. I suggest we make haste to the medbay sir.” Russal licked his lips nervous and Boba nodded sharply, reaching for his helmet to put it on. Din was unconscious, so seeing his ugly mug wouldn’t help the other.

And Boba would not leave his father’s armor behind ever again.

Carefully, he shifted his arm beneath Din’s legs and upper back, standing slowly with a grunt as his back protested.

But he refused to let anyone else carry Din, tucking the mando up against his chest as he stepped out of the doors  with Cobb and the doctor following, moving to Fennec  side ,  he paused to stare down at the captain as she now cowered beneath his cold visor,  Din tucked protectively to his chest . “…Everyone alive is to be brought to the palace, am I clear?” He stated, his voice crackling coldly through the vocoder before he made his way to the ship.

Boba knew he could trust Fennec to follow order and if he smirked a bit when he heard a pained yelp of the pirate captain as the sharpshooter got her moving… well, that was for him to know.


	20. In the morning

Waking slowly, Din kept his breathing soft and his mind steady as his body started feeding him input of what was going on. It was a technique he had developed while hunting. Panicking helped no one, least of all oneself if you were alone in a volatile situation. Therefore, Din had forced his mind to cope with the situation, so he could later, when he was safe, scream and cry about it.

His body ached but it was a dull thudding ache along with muscle stiffness and the smell of sickly sweetness hung in the air, the kind that came from overripe fruits, lingered in his nose with an undercurrent of sterile chemicals only used one place.

A medical facility.

That meant Din was safe, or at the very least somewhere that didn’t wish him harm.

There was a squeeze of his right hand and Din felt his entire being relax with the certainty of safety, because he recognized the scarred, callused hand wrapped around his.

Boba, his Boba.

Opening his sore eyes slowly, noting that his left eye felt sore, Din tilted his head to look, meeting the relieved amber ones of Boba as the man tightened his grasp on Din’s hand. For a long moment, they just stared at each other and then Boba leaned in, pressing their foreheads together as Boba let out a shuddering breath, the lack of armor making it easier for the two to press in close to each other. “Din… Din.” He whispered, voice thick, as if he didn’t know what else to say other than to repeat Din’s name.

Not that Din minded. He liked it when Boba said his name, so few had used his name before and having Boba say it… It brought him warmth.

Squeezing the others hand, Din let out a low, raspy noise. The sound had Boba twitching and then he shifted, holding onto Din’s hand and honestly, Din was grateful. The other leaning away gave Din a moment to glance about.

This was clearly a medbay, the room was sterile but instead of utterly polished white, it had a more snow like color, giving the walls a tint of blue. It was soothing and Din found himself relaxing more at the sight.

There were no windows. The only light was the fixtures above them, but that was understandable if they were back in the palace. Leaving the medbay with windows could let in grains that were the last thing a medic would want. Sand was a contaminant that could get into injuries, samples or medical liquids.Din knew that sand could ruin bacta and lead to infection. Sand-spoiled bacta sealed the sand inside the wound. The body reacted to the foreign contaminant as it was ‘programmed’ to do, attacking newly healing wounds which also house small invaders. Everything could become necrotic far too fast after that.

To the north of the room, Din could spot four doors. Squinting at them, he suspected that one was a fresher and hopefully a shower was in there, unless Boba took Din back to their room. Another door, he suspected, was the office of the medic, though he couldn’t parse out what the last two doors might lead to.

A surgery room?

A medical storage room for equipment?

Maybe a room for cleaning equipment that the medic had set up.

The medic…

Russal, the zabrak, wide red eyes and yellow skin with black tattoos practically absorbing the sun from the window above Din.

The memory was faint and Din swallowed thickly as he tried to push the memory away.

He didn’t want to think about it as he instead looked to the south of the room where there was a third door. This one Din suspected would lead out into the rest of the palace and faintly, Din wondered where in the palace these medical spaces had been set up.

Boba’s hand tightened on his and Din focused back on the other, letting out a happy noise when he saw the cup with a small spout on it. He quickly raised his head from the pillow he was laying on. A small smile crossed Boba’s lips and he set the spout to Din’s cracked lips, carefully pouring in a small amount of water, waiting for Din to swallow and then repeating until the cup was empty.

Shockingly, the water was cold.

Or maybe it just felt cold to Din. Because Din knew that the thin, white sheet with faint pink tinge covering him must be stiff and the mattress beneath him hard, but after the days he had, it all felt lovely to him.

With the thought of the last few days however, Din was reminded of his hand and dropped his head back against the pillow to tilt it, looking at his left hand.

He paused when he saw the pinkish orb locked around his hand as it rested along his side, staring at the gel like substance wrapped around his hand, a hand that had all five fingers with an IV attached through the gel to the top of his hand, leading to a bag hanging on a pole.

Confused, Din turned his head to Boba, eyes as wide as he could get them at the moment, full of questions. “Russal attached your fingers,” Boba stated, seeing what had Din so confused. “He said that your fingers might not be as functional as before, though physical therapy would help you recover somewhat.” He continued more quietly.

Nodding slowly with understanding, letting his mind mull over that information, Din slowly looked back to his hand. From what he could see, his hand looked undamaged, he couldn’t even see a scar through the gel where he knew they had been severed.

“…Can you move them?” Boba queried quietly, his grip tight on Din’s other hand.

Licking his still chapped lips, Din brow furrowed as he focused on his hand, thumb, index and middle finger easily pulling in towards his palm. The ring finger followed, slower but still moved by Din’s muscles.

The pinkie finger however he could tell was barely responding to Din’s decision to make a fist, was simply pulling along due to the tendons in his hands. That had been the first finger to go and it made sense that it was worse off.

Resting his fingertips against his palm, Din let out a shaky breath, feeling his hand throb inside the gel orb before he slowly straightened his fingers out once more. He couldn’t quite straighten his pinkie however and Din sighed deeply as he looked to Boba.

The other looked thrilled, having watched closely. “That’s… that’s better than Russal suspected. He stated that you might not be able to move either.” He breathed out heavily and looking closely, Din saw how tired the other man.

“…Have you slept at all?” He whispered shakily, grunting when Boba grimaced heavily.

Tugging at the others hand, Din gave him a pleading look. “Din… love…” Boba weakly protested, glancing to what Din had suspected was the office.

Clearly the other was thinking he had to inform the medic that Din was awake.

“Please… we can… can deal with everything in the morning,” Din pleaded, tugging again. When Boba wavered, Din spoke again. “I just want you to hold me… make me feel safe.” He wished his voice didn’t sound as broken.

Instantly Boba’s scarred face softened and he shifted, reaching down. If he was honest, it took Din an embarrassingly long moment to realize the other was removing his boots. But finally, finally Boba crawled onto the narrow medical bed, carefully shifting Din around until they were curled up on their sides and into each other, Din’s head settled under Boba’s chin and against his cloth covered chest and his healing hand suited onto Boba’s hip for support.

The warmth of the others body was a godsend and Din sniffled quietly as Boba’s hands slowly rubbed his back.

Boba didn’t smell good, the scent of souring sweat hung on him, but Din couldn’t bring himself to care a lick about it. He was sure he didn’t smell any better after all those days in captivity, unless someone had given him a sponge bath.

And by the feel of his own hair as Boba’s hand came up to stroke it for a few moments, Din highly doubted that.

He must be so gross, but he was still so tired and he didn’t want to move from Boba’s body or grasp. “You’re safe, you’re here. I have you, I have you Din. I have you love, my sweetheart. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” Boba whispered, his voice a tad frantic, as if he was assuring himself as much as Din.

But Boba was right.

He was safe, he was home and in Boba’s arms and that was all he had wanted those lonely days abducted by those that wanted to force Boba to give them things.

“I know…” Din agreed in a quiet rasp, nuzzling slowly. “I’m in your arms after all, my Boba, my buir’ika.” He smiled shakily, Boba’s arms tightening around his body at the words.

Safe.


	21. Marshal

Russal had not been happy about finding them both in the same bed, the medic a mix between terrified and incensed as he stared down at Boba. Hopefully the kid grew a spine soon, he would need it to be dealing with the medical needs not only of Din but also of Boba himself.

Then there was Fennec and her captains and all the enforcers that got personal treatment at the palace and didn’t have to go to the clinic in town.

Boba still didn’t regret it, Din’s fragile expression the night before haunting him as he woke the other and gently had him sit up for Russal as Boba held his good hand, the medic checking first on Din’s hand.

The medic did have good news, telling him that while Din was going to have some weakness in the fingers and that he had likely lost some some feeling in the nerves, he would be able to use his hand fully with a bit of therapy.

He had advised getting a stress ball for Din to squeeze and curl his fingers around and would forward a few hand exercises to Boba’s terminal for the two to look over and get Din started on his physical therapy.

While still swollen, Din’s eye would also make a full recovery and with enough fluids, Din’s current dehydration would also be a thing of the past, though Boba was already awake of that.

He was just thankful that beyond the fingers, there wouldn’t be permanent harm to Din, seeing the other in the cell, slumped to the wall, his face bruised and swollen with blood running down his arm…

It had terrified Boba.

A fear he long thought buried had risen sharply as his mind jumped to Geonosis, wondering if he was too late, wondering if he was going to witness someone he _loved_ die once more and be unable to do anything.

But Din was alive, weak but alive and once more safe with Boba.

Din had thrown a fit, a very weak one at that, until Boba gave him and clicked his collar back on the other man once Russal was finished examining him and had confirmed that Din’s neck was fully healed from the blisters it had when they found him.

Russal warned them both that Din would most likely experience a mild fever from what his body had been put through, but to not worry and just remember to eat and drink once they left the medbay.

His only major warning had been if Din started to feel that his fingers were hurting, to come back the moment he noticed in case there was an infection setting in, if there had been a contaminant that Russal had not removed or seen.

Though that would be for when he left the medbay, Russal wanted the man to spend one more night and where Din stayed, Boba remained.

Russal allowed it, if only because he saw how tense Din got at the prospect of being separated from Boba, recognizing what Boba already knew.

Din was still scared and needed what was familiar and safe around him.

Which was why the medic said nothing when he saw Boba in the same bed as Din later on, Din sleeping with his head pillowed on Boba’s shoulder as the King of Tatooine went over his messages on a pad.

The door opening however cut Boba’s perusal off as he turned his head, raising his brow when he saw the Marshal standing there awkwardly, the man stepping in when Boba gestured for him.

Best not let sand into the medbay afterall.

Slowly, Cobb wandered over, sans his armor and Boba absently noted the man was built but how he had been comfortable in Boba’s armor he had no idea. The man was leaner than Boba, the armor must have surely bruised him. “What can I help you with Marshal?” Boba drawled when the man was standing at the bedside.

Rocking on his heels, Cobb sucked on his teeth, glancing between Boba and a sleeping Din, his eyes lingering on the arm settled around the slender waist of the mando. And Boba took notice that the man was trying to avoid looking at Din’s face.

Interesting.

The marshal must feel like he didn’t quite have permission and was uncomfortable being there, and yet he had forced himself to come to the medbay.

Curious, Boba raised his brow at the other man.

Finally Cobb sighed deeply. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to understand all of this,” He made a vague gesture towards Din and Boba noted the others hazel eyes flashing to the collar. He felt himself tense but Cobb’s next words disarmed any actions he thought of taking. “But I know Din is happy like this, genuinely happy and not the fucked up kind where you just get so used to a situation that you convince yourself you’re happy,” The marshal stuck his thumbs into his belt, shifting slightly on the balls of his feet. “And… he needs that. I know he needs that after everything. So while I don’t get it, any of it, I do know that you and this, genuinely makes him happy.” Cobb eyed Boba, a small frown on his face.

Boba said nothing, simply ran his hand through Din’s hair with gentle fingers.

Really, what was he suppose to say?

I’m sorry your friend is kinky and you don’t get it?

Or explain to the other the dimension of relationships some people could have?

It was clear that to Cobb Vanth, these weren’t quite the things he understood.

But from what Boba could pierce together about the marshal being a former slave, that wasn’t too shocking.

Someone forced to kneel didn’t always understand why someone else would willingly choose to submit to another.

As long as he didn’t judge Din for it, Boba couldn’t care less. Din needed friends, someone he could talk to and while Din had made a friend in Fennec…

Well, he couldn’t just have her and sometimes the comm unit from Nevarro was spastic at best depending on the signal, so speaking to Cara wasn’t always easy.

Cobb both knowing Din as the mando and as Princess however?

Yes, that made life easier for Din, it meant that he had a friend that could not only call him but also visit him.

A friend that was willing to come in gun blazing that was actually living on Tatooine and could reach him in less than a day if pressed.

Setting his pad aside, moving carefully so not to disturb Din, Boba let out a low rumbling noise and settled his now free hand in Din’s hair. “Some people,” He stated slowly, feeling Cobb watching him as Boba looked at Din’s sleep softened face. “Need to be able to let go but can’t quite manage on their own. They feel that they need to be in constant control but that is not a way for humans to live, it makes them go taunt, like a wire, a wire that could snap.” He glanced up to see if the other got it.

Cobb was frowning, hands tightening on his belt. “So he… this is a way for Din to relax?” He spoke slowly, as if he was uncertain that was the right question.

Tilting his head, Boba hummed. “Partly. He also gets pleasure from it. Some people find pleasure in obedience and there is a difference in what is forcibly taken,” Boba stared up at Cobb, the man breaking into an ugly flush with an angry grimace and Boba looked back down to Din. “And what is willingly offered to someone you trust not to abuse the privilege.”

The medbay descended into silence as Cobb thought that over, staring at Din’s IV line. “…I don’t get it,” He shook his head, sighing before smiling wryly. “But I don’t have to. Din’s happy, that’s what matters, especially after everything that’s gone down.” He shrugged.

Humming at that, Boba stroked Din’s greasy hair, noting he was going to wash the other when they got back to their room, maybe soak in the tub for a good while together. “As long as you remain his friend, I don’t think you have to do anything else.” He purposely used a light voice.

And got a deep, knowing snort in return. “And if I didn’t, you’d deal with it. Don’t think I don’t realize that,” Cobb gave him a vicious little grin and Boba smirked back. He kinda liked the other he had to admit. “And don’t worry. Din’s friendship isn’t made with demands, judgments or caveats, as long as he’s having fun, I don’t care.” He chuckled.

Alright, Boba really liked the marshal now.

It was nice to know Din had friends on Tatooine.


	22. Organa

Today was shaping up to be a bad day all over.

Din had finally been released from the medbay, sleeping in their room curled into Boba’s body for comfort while Boba latched almost desperately onto the other man, spending a long time awake simply watching Din in their bed, sleeping peacefully in Boba’s arms as his bruise mottled body relaxed.

However, his fever had spiked that morning and had woken both of them with a nightmare, Din babbling apologies as he sobbed brokenly, his hand curled between the two.

Russal had warned them that this could happen, Din’s kidnapping stint in a tiny cell that was alternatively hot then cold depending on day or night without anything to cover him along with blood loss, pain and no water or food leading to Din’s body to now coping with the trauma.

The fever and chills were almost guaranteed and Boba would have been surprised if Din didn’t have a nightmare or two after what had happened.

He took note that Din often clung to his collar, his good fingers wrapped around the ring of it, as if the reassuring weight was needed to remind him where he was as he pressed into Boba’s body.

Tacked onto that, Leia Organa had arrived on Tatooine, thankfully sans Han Solo as Boba wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself back from killing the laserbrain if he showed up.

However she had also brought clones with her as guards and Boba didn’t want Din to see them. A frightened part of Boba was worried about Din comparing them, finding Boba lacking in some manner.

Yet there was nothing he could do about that.

He wasn’t willing to leave Din alone in the bedroom, not in his current state after nightmares and fever and Leia Organa was not a woman you left to wait.

Which was why he greeted her in the throne room with Din sleeping against his shoulder, his sweetheart wearing Boba’s robe once more as Boba wanted the other more covered up than the pretty lingerie outfits he normally wore as Boba’s Princess.

Honestly, Din really should have his own but the other seemed to prefer to steal Boba’s clothes when he could.

It was why Boba kept more than one robe and a few extra shirts and tunics, just so Din could raid his closet at times.

The sight of a sleeping, almost bare man in a collar on Boba’s lap had not impressed Organa and the clones behind her was watching too with uneasy eyes, despite not talking. Neither of the two aging clones were impressed with what they were seeing obviously and Boba was almost certain that one of them were Captain Rex.

Not that he cared.

None were as little impressed as Organa though, the woman’s voice rising and Boba got it, he really did.

She had once been chained to this very dais as Jabba’s pet but by the first light, he wanted to jab her in the throat to shut her up, his own anger rising to match her spiteful words as he struggled not to wake Din.

All in vain as Organa’s voice finally rose loud enough to shake sand off the ceiling as she eyed some of the mottled bruises on Din’s legs and the bandage around his knee with disgust, the clone Boba thought was Rex reaching out to try and reel her in, the former princess reaching for the blaster on her belt, the situation rapidly deteriorating as Boba’s guards were going for theirs.

But her voice had finally woken Din, his fever doing what torture could not as he gave a small, frightened cry and jerked to in Boba’s lap like a skittish tooka, breaking the tension of the room.

Instantly Boba’s focus turned, his arms coming up protectively to prevent Din from falling from his lap. “Mesh’la, verd’ika, calm down, gedet'ye.” Boba murmured quickly, shifting one hand up to Din’s upper back, holding him in place while his other captured Din’s formerly injured hand, cradling it to his chest.

Shuddering, looking around shakily, glancing over at the stunned trio in front of the dais, Din swallowed thickly. “W-What’s going on?” He rasped quietly, blinking the grit out of his eyes, licking his dry lips.

“Organa came to see me, to… negotiate.” Boba stated quietly, his voice still pitching through the throne room but everyone that had spent more than a day in the court knew better than to interrupt when Boba was speaking with Din.

The trio in front was still too surprised at Boba’s behavior to make more fuss, the likely Rex clone hand on Organa’s shoulder.

Din let out a low noise, shifting slightly in the others lap. “Organa… the hutt slayer?” He questioned, glancing towards her when Organa let out a surprised noise.

Snorting quietly but nodding as he cradled Din’s hand to his chest still, Boba removed his other arm from around his lover to bite at the fingertip of his glove, removing it.

He spat it out into Din’s lap and reached up to the others forehead, hissing quietly as he pressed his hand to the others forehead, a dark frown on his face. “Your fever is just as bad as it was in the morning. You should be in bed.” Boba murmured disapprovingly, bare hand stroking over Din’s hair and settling on the back of his neck.

Shuffling, pressing into the others neck, Din whined. “Don’t want to be alone.” He rasped out.

Sighing faintly, Boba cuddled the other more to his chest. “Yeah, see, that’s why you’re here,” Boba agreed quietly, shooting Organa a brief, angry glance before focusing back on his lover. “Just a bit more and we can go back to our room,” He stated in a promising voice, smiling faintly when Din let out a soft, relieved noise that turned into a hum when Boba lifted Din’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the pinkie and ring finger. “Just a little longer Princess.” He promised quietly.

“What is…” Organa paused, lips pursed, eyes glancing between Din and Boba.

Snorting, Boba cradled Din to his chest. “Princess got abducted a few days ago, he only recently left the medical bay with permission of our medic.” He drawled, feeling Din shift to glance at the New Republic Senator and clones.

At the mention, Russal waved nervously from over at the bar where he he had been speaking with Cobb, Boba nodding in return to him even as he took note of the Marshal’s hand on his blaster still.

Organa’s brows furrowed, glancing between the medic and Din’s bandaged and bruised legs.

“I however don’t like leaving him alone, he’s sick and prone to nightmares at the moment,” Boba continued and felt Din press back into his neck, a humiliated little whine coming from the other and Boba smoothed his gloved hand over the others spine in apology as he continued staring at Organa. “Nevertheless, you arrived in a nifty star destroyer and demanded my presence, on _my_ planet and seeing as who your brother is along with that death craft, I’d rather not risk bringing a Jetti down on my palace even if you only brought two guards with you down.” He sneered at Organa.

In his lap, Din tensed slightly at the mention of Luke and Boba continued rubbing at the others back while cradling the hand, feeling the ring and pinkie finger twitch slightly in his grasp as Din hand fisted.

Any mention of Luke always had Din slightly on edge, mostly since he knew that Boba didn’t actually approve of the man. But Boba knew better and left sleeping dogs lay, as long as Luke karking Skywalker behaved and taught Din’s adiik properly, Boba would keep his comments to himself.

Organa however could go eat a fist if she upset Din one more time. Din needed rest, not being scared awake.

At the moment she looked like she had eaten a lemon, her pretty face puckered up into a thoughtful scrowl as the two stared at each other, King of Tatooine and former Princess of Alderaan. A silent battle of wills that only broke when she glanced once more at Din, taking in the sweat gathering on Din’s dark skin along with the faint trembles bringing her empathy to the surface. “…Is there accommodation close to the palace?” She questioned, crossing her arms over her chest, indicating that she would not be accepting any rooms Boba offered her in the palace.

Not that he wanted to house her after she freaked Din out.

Grunting, Boba tilted his head to look to the bar. “Rive, the inn is fully operational in town, right?” He questioned one of his lieutenants.

The armored, blue skinned twi’lek let out a soft hum and nodded, ignoring Organa wholly as she only gave her attention to her boss. It shouldn’t amuse Boba, the show of pettiness that could make negotiation harder but honestly, every time one of his former slave turned captains or lieutenants decided they didn’t like someone for how they spoke to Boba or Din, it made the cold concave of his heart flutter with delight.

They had been there long enough to know that Din’s power over Boba stretched far beyond what a common ‘slave’ had and knew that Din knelt willingly at his feet. “Yes sir. La-Vulpa had it up and running last week. Far as I know, he has at least ten beds for outsiders and I don’t think there’s more than five at the moment down in the town.” Riva stated calmly.

Turning his head to look at Organa, Boba raised a brow, gnarled scar tissue pulling at the move.

She nodded harshly in return. “Then we’ll continue this tomorrow.”

A concession, small one but it meant Din and Boba could retreat, could rest.

Shifting his arms around the other man, Din letting out a questioning noise only to squeak and throw his arms around the others neck for support when Boba stood with Din in a princess carry. “Tomorrow then. Riva,” He turned back to his lieutenant. “Contact me if there’s any issues or if Shand returns, otherwise, we’re not to be disturbed.” Riva’s armored lekku’s twitched, scraping against her pauldrons before she raised a fist and tapped her chestplate twice, bowing her head in respect.

“Of course sir, enjoy the rest of your day,” Her eyes flickered to Din. “Speedy recovery Princess, court isn’t the same without you here.” Din looked up at that, blinking at Riva before smiling weakly, settling his head back into Boba’s neck.

‘Rest, yes, rest would be good.’ Boba made his way around the throne, ignoring the two clones staring after him and Din even as Organa was already moving for the stairs.

Maybe he and Din could take a second bath, try and sweat the fever out and not just for cleaning purposes but regardless, they were returning to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Mesh’la = beautiful
> 
> Verd’ika = little soldier
> 
> Gedet’ye = Please


	23. Just one karking calm day

He doesn’t like it.

No scratch that, he _hates_ this, but he leads Organa and the two clones into the kings suite behind the throne.

Fennec, that damn loiterer, simply smirks knowingly at him while the courtiers whisper to each others. Most however has caught on that Boba can and will do almost anything for Din. That includes letting enemies into his own private, safe space to keep an eye on Din and his comfort.

He won’t have Din out in the throne room again, sleeping on his lap in his feverish state but sleeping on the couch would be alright, tucked up under the soft but warm night blankets they had.

Which is why he leads them into the living room where he normally only entertains those he trusts like Fennec, Din and these last few days, Cobb Vanth.

There is also the occasional visitors from his past that he makes a point of catching up with, checking if they are trying to use him for his new connection or if they are really there as his former friends.

Din is of course waiting when they enter, sitting on one of the bantha leather couch with the blanket around his shoulders, Boba’s robe peeking out from under the fuzzy, black blanket.

He perks up when Boba enters and Boba makes a beeline for the other, making his way between the couch and the caff table containing his water canteen, sitting down and carefully encouraging Din to lay his head on his lap. “You were suppose to already be asleep.” He scolded gently, pressing his hand to Din’s forehead.

Still hot but not as bad as yesterday.

Russal had come by with some fever dampening medication and Boba had encouraged quite a bit of cold water into the other man, both things seemed to have worked a little.

Din hummed, pressing into the hand before rolling around so he could press his face to Boba’s stomach. “Was waiting on you buir’ika.” He murmured sleepily, closing his eyes with a content little sigh.

Lips twitching into a small, involuntary smile, Boba glanced at the other three, finding Organa watching them with narrowed eyes while the two other clones shifted uncertainly behind her. “Are you going to sit or not.” Boba stated blandly to the three, staring at them with narrowed eyes as he tucked the blanket more around Din, tucking his hand into the wild curls of his lover hair.

His lips twitched again at the pleased hum that gained him and he looked back down to his lover, ignoring as he heard the shift of the three moving, finally taking a seat on the other bantha leather couch across from the caff table.

None of them said anything, Boba focusing on Din, carefully scratching at the other’s scalp and the other three observing and looking about at Boba’s and Din’s private space.

Not that Boba cared, anything incriminating had been put away into the bedroom and the beaded curtain made it hard to distinguish anything in there from here. He didn’t offer them any refreshment, they weren’t welcomed guests and princess herself had upset upset _his_ princess.

So no, unless they asked for it or apologized, Boba was not about to be a gracious host. “Ori'jate, nuhoy jii ner runi.” He murmured softly, Din letting out a sleepy little noise against his stomach.

A feminine inclined voice cleared their throat and Boba grunted before looking up, giving Organa an unamused look as he continued slowly petting Din, resting his other hand on the others arm.

The two leaders gave each other a long look, both equally judging as the two clones just shifted on the couch, looking slightly nervous, as if they expected a firefight to happen.

“He’s not a slave.” Organa’s sure voice had Boba raising a brow.

Brown eyes shot past Boba, looking to the left and down and Boba followed it behind his shoulder, pausing when he saw what she had noticed.

Din’s silver beskar chestplate, barely peeking out from underneath a sheet but enough to be seen and the shape telling what it was. The silver cuirass couldn’t be mistaken for Boba’s, not when it was clearly seen on the stand with his helmet on top.

Boba slowly returned his eyes to her, staring at Organa, his jaw tense as he wished he had a blaster on him. “You have a second lieutenant,” Organa continued, staring mercilessly at Boba. “A mandalorian, silver dressed beskar,” Her eyes shot down to Din, his breath’s slow and steady. “…He speaks mando’a.”

Boba wanted to kill her.

Clearly some of his intent was showing as both her clones were reaching for their weapons.

However, Organa held up her hand, still staring at Boba. “…He’s here because he wants to be.” She stated, not asked.

Still, Boba nodded. “The intricacies of our relationship is not for anyone else to judge, but yes. I don’t fuck slaves and I don’t pay for sex, regardless what my former profession would have lead you to think.” He sneered at her, rubbing at Din’s hair still to keep his love asleep.

The last thing he wanted was for him to be awake for this.

Organa narrowed her eyes at him again.

He didn’t blame her for not having a positive view of him but frankly, she could shove those thoughts right up her arse. “My _father,_ ” The two clones jumped, eyes focused on Boba at the mention of Jango but Boba glared at the fancy little Senator that thought her worldview was everything and everything fit in neat little boxes. “Was a slave, I saw his scars, I will never forget them. What my employers chose to do, I can not change, I was trying to survive and I was not created with a silver spoon in my mouth _princess_ . But _I_ am in charge of Tatooine now. _My_ legacy will be different.” He glared darkly at her.

Organa looked like someone had put her neat little view of the galaxy in a box and shaken it up.

Snorting, Boba settled back, focusing on Din as he worked out a tangle of curls. “…My Princess needs someone there, someone he can trust to help him put himself together. And that’s all I will say about our relationship. Anything else will get you sent the fuck out on your ass in the sand Organa. Not even Skywalker or your nifty craft up there can cower that information out of me…” He shot a glance at her, an ugly smirk crossing his face. “But you know, as they say, like father like daughter.” He sneered.

Several things happened at once.

Organa gave a hiss like an angry cat, knowing exactly what Boba was hinting at, reaching for the blaster on her hip as she stood from the couch. The two clones desperately reached for her at the same time as they reached for their own weapons and Boba jerked too, reaching for his own.

Din beat him to the punch, jolting into action, grabbing Boba’s blaster from his hip and throwing himself onto his feet with the blanket wrapped around his waist still, knocking his calves into the caff table even as he placed the mouth of the blaster under Organa’s chin, eyes feverish but there in the moment, recognizing a threat.

Outside of Din, everyone froze, Din standing still as a statue with the blaster held to the New Republic Senator’s throat. “…Put your blaster down.” Din raspy voice murmured, eyes cold as she stared down at her.

Organa bared her teeth a bit, visibly frustrated only to jump when Boba spoke, reaching up to place his hand on Din’s lower back, rubbing his lower back. “Udesii ner kar'taylir darasuum. Udesii.”

Din didn’t move, though his hand quivered slightly.

“Please love, come back here little one,” Boba crooned quietly, breathing out quietly through his nose as Organa dropped back and Din mirrored the action, settling back down against Boba with a tired little noise. “There we go. You’re suppose to rest.” He semi scolded, carefully tucking the blanket around the other again and encouraging him back to Boba’s lap.

The other three were watching of course, Organa still bristling but the two former troopers, who Boba was certain now was Rex and Wolffe if his memory served right, were relaxing more.

It confused Boba, until he remembered… most clones knew _some_ mandalorian.

The two knew what Boba had called Din.

Sending the two troopers a slightly angry look, the scars thankfully hiding most of his flush, Boba continued working Din to a drowsy contentment again, working out the adrenaline fueled battle instincts the hunter had honed through so many years.

Thankfully, Organa at least didn’t seem to know and while the other two could have told her, Boba instead launched into whatever kark Organa wanted so he could get them _off_ his planet.

One day of peace, that’s all he wanted, one karking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ori'jate, nuhoy jii ner runi = Very good, sleep now my soul  
> Udesii ner kar'taylir darasuum = Calm down my love.


	24. Sweet

Smiling softly as he continued affectionately rubbing Din’s feet, doing his best to ignore the bruise mottled skin covering the other’s body as too much staring made Din self conscious and uncomfortable, Boba instead focused on the look of contentment on Din’s beautiful face.

Laying propped on the practically obscene amount of pillows on their bed in all the colors of the rainbow in simply his shorts, Din was the picture of comfort in the slight sunlight peeking in through the curtains, his lashes resting gently against his cheeks as he breathed steadily.

If it wasn’t for the minute shifting now and again, Boba would think the other asleep as he drew soft, steady breaths in his nose and out his slightly open mouth.

As it was, Din was simply so comfortable and content that he was relaxing, the buzz of his head silent.

It thrilled the deep parts of Boba that wanted the other coddled and soothed the parts of him that wanted Din’s trust, to see the other with his eyes closed against their bed.

Occasionally when he shifted, the sun would glint of his collar and Boba’s attention would be drawn to it, his own mind buzzing with comfort as he was reminded that now Din’s collar could only be unlocked with a biolock and would shock anyone that was not him or Din trying to remove it or even touching Din.

Worst case scenario, it also had a tracker built into it.

Din had initially thrown a small fit about Boba wanting his collar for a few days, both his hands holding onto it around his neck with wide, almost betrayal filled eyes, sitting upright against the headboard of their bed.

The look had hurt Boba deep into his soul and he had quickly soothed the other while explaining himself to Din.

He wasn’t taking the collar away for good, just for a few days, just to equip it with safety and protective features for the future. With the explanation, Din had relaxed, though Boba had noted that Din was antsy over the next few days, causing Boba to work faster on the collar and delay several meetings.

He had pissed of several of his liaisons off world, people he knew would be even more difficult to work with after being ignored as Boba had done to focus on the collar.

But it was worth it in his eyes when he clicked the collar back around Din’s neck and saw how the others shoulders relaxed, curious tanned fingers brushing at the beskar that once more lined his throat.

No one was going to harm Din again as Princess or abduct him, because the moment someone tried to touch the collar, an alert would go to Boba’s gauntlet.

He would be informed, the tracker would go live and Din would be found as _fast_ as Boba could move.

Every precaution was now taken, additional guards where Din ventured as Princess, holo cams with no blind spots with as many as had been set up with a direct feed to Boba’s office and Din’s collar equipped.

No, no one would harm Din again without severe consequences and if he had to put a blaster in Din’s hand as Princess while out in public, he would.

Everyone knew that Din was capable of murder even without a blaster, so Boba had no qualms about putting a blaster in his hands and telling him to shoot the first one that touched him without permission

He would never again have this situation happen, to feel so helpless in the face of danger to a loved one.

Especially one as precious to him as Din was.

And even more important, Din was never to put in a situation of hurt and pain again, not on Boba’s planet and especially not in his palace.

Their palace.

Curving his hand around the heel of Din’s left food, he raised carefully, watching Din’s face for a sign of discomfort only to find the other cracking one eye open to a silver to watch. It made him smile as he raised Din’s foot fully as he bent his head, pressing a soft kiss to the arch of the foot.

Din’s cheeks flushed a bit, a shy smile crossing his lips at the action.

Unable to resist, Boba pressed a few more kisses over the arch and up to the ankle, rubbing gently at the heel, keeping his gaze locked with Din’s now open eyes. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum Din.” He whispered quietly against the sun tanned skin, Din having turned darker under the suns of Tatooine as Princess.

Din’s cheeks darkened to a ruddy red, his smile growing into that sweet smile Boba had come to adore so much from his little one, his Princess. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum balyc Boba.” He murmured.

Placing the other’s foot back down on the bed, Boba crawled forward, his right hand reaching in to carefully run his fingertips against warm skin until he was leveled with Din’s face, settling his forearms on the pillows to cage the others head in.

He only settled his body down in the lightest of pressure, too aware of how badly of the other was still sore and hurting even if he was recovering. Boba’s own scars often reminding him to be gentle as they ached with phantom pain or sensitivity. But enough pressure that Din knew he was there as Boba carefully pressed their foreheads together.

Din pressed gently back, returning the mirshmure'cya as they shared the air from each others lungs, Din’s right hand coming up to slowly stroke over the back of Boba’s head and neck. His left remained settled on his own chest.

Boba suspected it was a subconscious decision, a protective move by the mando.

But in that moment, he was more preoccupied peering into Din’s dark eyes, relief in his soul as Din’s fever was as good as gone while he enjoyed the intimacy of their Keldable kiss.

“Ner Cabur. Cabur be ner kar’ta.” Din whispered quietly, the coveted title singing along Boba’s veins with Din’s breath washing over his face.

Not like the title of buir’ika.

That was for play.

But to be Din’s protector, to guard him not only physically but to guard his heart and soul after all Din had gone through…

Catching Din’s left hand, bringing it to his lips, Boba breathed out shakily. “Mesh’la… you honor me.” He didn’t have any other words for what Din was giving him, his chest feeling too tight.

Din just continued smiling slightly, his hand still slowly stroking over the back of Boba’s head as he entrusted all he was and all he could be into the other’s hands.

But then again, wasn’t Boba doing the same?

The thought settled into Boba’s chest and he felt himself settle at the thought, smiling slightly as he stole a sweet kiss from Din’s lips, still holding Din’s damaged hand to his chest.

He was fine with that, trusting himself to Din.

Trusting himself to the one he loved more than his own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: 
> 
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you 
> 
> Balyc = Also  
> Mirshmure'cya = Keldable kiss (nickname for a headbutt)  
> Ner Cabur = My protector  
> Cabur be ner kar’ta = Protector of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> @robinasnyder was kind enough to beta this, send her some praise!


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